Die Tonight Rule Tomorrow
by AlphaEN
Summary: Sequel to Put Me First. Love/Action/Drama/Mystery. Eric and Sookie go to Vegas. How is FDC going to greet them? Original version is NC-17 for violence and mature content.
1. Ch 1: Testing The Waters

A/N I've decided to give it a try and post the sequel to Put Me First on ff net, but unfortunately due to the FF net policy there will be no more explicit sexual content - lemons, in short. Feel free to visit alphafang . wordpress . com to read the full version and look at some great art and fanart. CH 1-12 are up, Ch 13 is in the makings.

CH 1: Testing The Waters

SPOV

I slept through most of the flight. Captain Clayton's first informal lesson had almost erased my absurd fear of the takeoffs, and Eric's presence comforted me, so much so I hadn't noticed how my head ended up on his chest and his arm wrapped around me.

The plane wasn't as luxurious as the one Eric had chartered for our date, but I had no complaints. For one, it was commercial and, therefore, much larger, intended for twenty four passengers, as I'd overhead one of the pilots (I'd also gathered the engines were good and the bird was ready to go/fly – wasn't that a balm on my strained nerves?) Besides, this was definitely first class for supes and their humans – wide cushy armchairs with plenty of space to recline and stretch my legs, light-tight salon and a secure section for coffins, appropriate refreshments (a variety of synthetic and mixed blood) and some decent Life Support, quiet atmosphere, and very courteous flight attendants.

We had taken one of the two so-called double seats – if you pushed the armrests in the middle up into the slot between the backrests, you'd end up with a nice couch. Of course, it wasn't wide enough to fit Eric, but it was just the right size for me.

My slumber was short and restless. I woke when we stopped in Dallas and a few vampires came on board of Anubis Air. We headed to Las Vegas after refueling, and once in the air again, I snuggled back into my husband and closed my eyes, determined to make up for the sleep I'd inevitably miss during nights to come.

"Hungry?" Eric murmured into my hair.

I managed to shake my head, effectively nuzzling into him. We were in the back of the salon, and no one was really watching us. With his left, he pulled a blanket up over me and then returned his hand to rest around my shoulder. He had his laptop open in front of him on a small folding table. I didn't pry.

"You work, I'll sleep," I mumbled.

...

"Sookie, we're getting close," Eric was running his hand along my upper arm, pulling me out of my gray dreams.

I couldn't stifle a huge yawn. "How much longer?"

He arched an eyebrow, as I sat up straight and pushed the blanket aside. "You tell me."

Sleepy head! I dipped into the crew members' concentrated minds.

Shit. "Not much. I better hurry."

I grabbed my carryon and went to the restroom.

"Gah!" My hair looked like a hay stack. I ran a brush through the tangles and made a loose braid – not my favorite, but pulling my hair up in a tight ponytail would be just one tiny notch up on the scale of the headache I was expecting to take up residence inside my skull in few hours.

I'd been in time saving mode while preparing for the trip, and I'd completely neglected putting on makeup. Now I was doubly glad for the total lack of powder and lipstick on my face, because I was in no mood for the after-sleep beautification process. I was uncomfortable. I had cramps. My boobies hurt. Fairy-human hormones vs vampire blood in my system – and the fairy was winning. Women who aren't meant to have children should be spared the monthly pain, I thought with irritation. I downed the maximum allowed dose of Advil, took care of my human and feminine needs and returned into my seat.

As the plane began its descend, the mental jumble of people on the ground grew louder. I tried not to concentrate on anything in particular and instead let the currents of thoughts flow sort of past me. I wasn't shielding, because I wanted to desensitize myself a little and build whatever tolerance I could before we got to the hotel.

The royal office had sent a town car to pick us up from the airport, and pretty soon we entered the city limits.

According to the forecast I'd read during my research on the Internet, this weekend was going to be hot – over 100 degrees during the day with a drop to low 90's at night. No wonder - Las Vegas is situated in the desert, surrounded by dry mountains. With population over 1 million, the city's busiest part was the very heart of the gambling industry – the downtown. You'd think I had nothing better to do but to look up the demographics and other statistics, but how else would I know what I was going to deal with? If on average 39 million visited the gaming capitol every year, it would roughly translate into over one hundred thousand people every day, thus giving me just that many reasons to expect my telepathic zone to be as densely packed with humans as I'd ever encountered before. An ocean of minds would surround me for three days and nights, even if the radius of my coverage was a little over one mile. On the other hand, I hoped a relatively large number of voids in the hotel would help thin out the noisy broadcasts.

The clamor inside my head was getting louder, and it was becoming harder not to listen just because I was trying real hard not to. I needed a distraction.

"Have you been here before?" I asked Eric.

"No. California, mostly."

The beaches. "The same time you visited Florida?"

He nodded, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

I leaned closer and whispered into his ear, "Washed your feet in the Pacific ocean? What was the occasion?"

"Curious, aren't you?" He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I blew a giggle.

"Worried to make a dent in your mysterious image, Viking?"

He chuckled. "Not nearly. Your impressionable mind is what I'm mostly concerned with."

"How very sweet of you."

"Not really."

"You're right. More like condescending."

He smirked. "You know me so well, my lover."

Maybe, we were married and all, but somehow, the flirting and the back-and-forth silly ranting and picking on each other hadn't ceased. Not everything was going to change between us, I realized with a strange relief. Not everything had to change.

"I do," I replied. "Better every night. I feel like Shahryãr in One Thousand and One Nights."

Eric looked at me, with sapphire blue burning deep, telling me without words that there would be much more than one thousand nights for us. Just that single penetrating look, and I was already much calmer.

Although life in Vegas ran 24/7, it was really a heaven for night owls. The illuminations, the parties, the shows, the game – everything acquired different meaning once the darkness spread its wings. Vivid and vibrant, loud and energetic, the Sin City greeted us with its beacons of hotel and casino lights. The car slowed down across the street from Bellagio in front of Hacienda – a complex with tall, modern building spiking behind a wall of columns that formed arches of different width and height.

"This lot used to be Paris Las Vegas hotel and casino," Eric commented quietly, as the driver turned into a designated access way under one of the arches. "Felipe took over within a month after the Great Reveal."

"Impressive." And it truly was. The rendition of the Mediterranean style infused with Islamic elements looked amazing. The arches were large, high and inviting, creating an iconic grand vibe. This illusory barrier made whatever lied behind it unexpectedly alluring and taunting. I'd visited the website, taken the visual tours and read whatever I could about Hacienda; I'd found it's architectural style to be rather tasteful, but, frankly, the King's crown jewel was much more beautiful and striking in real life. This meant one thing – I'd been unconsciously underestimating Felipe – a mistake that could cost both Eric and me dearly.

"What do you call these details?" I pointed up at a section of the see-through wall above the semicircles of the arches.

"Filigree," Eric replied.

"It's such a delicate work. Like lace."

"This one is very similar to Moorish ornamentation," he explained. "Somewhere between the ninth and the fifteen centuries Spain was trying to recapture Moorish-held territories. It was a political as well as a religious struggle, because Islam and Christianity were considered rivals. Ferdinand and Isabella used a single faith to help unify their lands, but inevitably the mutual influence manifested through science, art and architecture. Felipe was born as human in those turbulent times."

I quickly did the math. At the end of the fifteen century Eric was about five hundred, and Felipe two-three hundred years old, or dead, as vampires always said. Apparently, senior vampires tended to remember their human heritage, although they didn't speak of it; otherwise, why would de Castro choose this particular theme? Did it remind him of his younger vampire years, too? I didn't know much about the King; his profile wasn't part of the Vampire Directory. In addition to what Eric had shared, all I could recall was my conversation with Sam after the takeover. De Castro had a publishing empire, at least one casino, and several restaurants. He was the head of a group that oversaw all vampire entertainment in Nevada. I wondered if E(E)E was also one of the official pies he had his fingers in. On a more shady side of his activities were pits, shark loans, money laundering and some other dealings Eric hadn't elaborated on. Sam had also thought that being such a great businessman and having figured out what made tourists tick would automatically make Felipe the right vampire to rule and rebuilt New Orleans. I was sad to admit our own jewel of Louisiana hadn't benefited a smidgen from the change of undead powers. If anything, things were going downhill, especially for Arkansas.

We drove past fountains in the center that were flaring up and down in a well-orchestrated show accompanied by soft guitar music. Bellagio couldn't compare. I thought about the amount of water it took to maintain this astounding monstrosity – right in the middle of the desert.

The main hotel and casino were located on the left, in a tall, modern with soft lines and balconies on the top floors building; the villas occupied the center; and the right eight-story wide wing was designated exclusively for blood-drinking guests and their breathing-bleeding companions. Our luggage was quickly pulled on a cart by a pair of porters in dark brown with gold uniforms and yellow leather gloves, despite the sticky heat of the night. It wasn't a style that called for the sheathed hands, but the necessity to keep their smell and sweat off vampires' belongings. We were checked in with an amazing speed, while one of the porters rolled the cart into an elevator and held the doors ajar for us. The personnel here knew not to waste a moment of the night, especially during summer – something any vampire could appreciate immediately.

If only de Castro ran his newly acquired territories as tightly.

It was past 3 a.m., and we needed to present ourselves in person to the proper authorities, according to the protocol. In my pre-trip frenzy, I'd even looked up the sunset and sunrise times in Las Vegas for the weekend, so I knew down to a minute how much we had left before Eric had to retire for the day.

While I hopped into the shower to quickly freshen up, he opened the suitcases and pulled clothes for us. I was still dressing, when he emerged from the bathroom after taking his turn under the stream of hot water, glowing and naked. His world-class butt, however, reminded me there could be cameras in the room. Great! And I was parading my girls for some security staff to check me out. Ugh!

"We have less than two hours before the dawn," I dropped, peeved.

"More than enough for tonight's business," he said, putting on dark pants and a dress shirt.

We weren't supposed to meet the King upon our arrival. Knowing that the noticeably dark circles under my eyes wouldn't be scrutinized by his Royal Highness helped me focus on scooping and sorting thoughts and mental signatures. I had already detected a specific high of the gambling thrill, ranging from mild curiosity of a next move/card/dice roll to a blazing anger of a loss or (less often) an overwhelming joy of a win. I'd tried to erect an extra shield to muffle that distinct kind of transmissions. The effort to brace the new layer of protection was conscious, therefore preoccupying a part of my brain, but I had Eric by my side to more than compensate for my slacking attention.

On our way up to the royal offices on the fifth floor, I kept listening whoever was closer to me within the building. Inside my head some strange processes were occurring, but I just couldn't add that worry to the mix. Instead, I went with the plan, pretending to be engrossed into a conversation with Eric: every so often, I repeated "Oh, really?" and automatically nodded as he was telling me trivia about games and players. This had been his idea to let me listen and maintain our cover at the same time. Felipe's people might suspect I was reading as many of them as I could, but I sure as hell didn't want to look the part, sporting the obvious absent expression on my face I get whenever I am in the receiving mode.

The fifth and sixth floors were occupied by different offices, and the top two were de Castro's personal and working quarters. We proceeded down a quiet hallway, the dark carpet smothering the sounds of our footsteps, my arm thought Eric's. I snapped out of the mental dimension and regrouped as soon as we stood in front of a wide reception counter to the left from the elevators. Dillon S. logged us in, all the while demonstrating a generic and polite smile of a man who didn't care who we were as long as we did what we were supposed to do in the manner prescribed by the rules. I zoomed in on him, blocking everyone else out. His military background had instilled in him the importance of discipline and obedience to the higher ups, and he appreciated those qualities in others above all. I almost snorted. Mr. S. was an obvious case of loyalty gorged on glamour, and I could easily see the ragged cracks in his overall demeanor, caused by contradictions between his own beliefs and the forced rules.

Still, the man worked fast and effectively. He took Eric's electronic key-card, and I followed his thoughts as he assigned level V3 security clearance to Sheriff Norhtman. When he looked up my records, his surprise and respect immediately surged. I was the first human to be given V4 clearance instead of usual H1 or H2 – ever.

I had no time to ponder what that last bit meant.

"Sheriff Norhtman, Ms. Stackhouse, thank you," he said, returning the cards. "All set. Tomorrow at the briefing you will be informed of the zones you have access to, using these key-cards."

"It's actually Mrs. Northman," I corrected him and stunned Eric at the same time.

"Oh, excuse me, the records didn't show that," Dillon S. glanced back at the screen and began typing. Eric's cool fingers laced through mine, and I gave him a tiny squeeze, responding to the flood of astonishment and pride coming from him. I don't know why I said it; I just needed it to be plain and simple for everyone around here – I was with Eric, I was Eric's, even if Louisiana wouldn't issue a proper document certifying our marital status.

"Will you be able to change that in the system?" the Viking asked, and I felt his sudden giddy anticipation.

"Ahmm," the administrator slowly shook his head, still reading something off the screen, "I'm afraid not. The last name Stackhouse has been entered in the schedule, the docket files and interview documents. There is no time to revise and reprint any of that at this point. But I'll make notes to correct the error before the coronation." He looked up at me, "except for the invitation, which you already received."

I beamed at the middle-aged man who served vampires because of his family (braces and private schools.) His daughters had his true loyalty. I understood Eric's reservation against glamouring those who worked directly for him that much better.

"That is acceptable," Eric relented. As if we had a choice. "Change everything to Sookie Stackhouse Northman."

God… this man, he just got me. Thoroughly.

"I'll put the notification through tonight," the administrator assured us.

"Thank you, Mr. S," I said.

"You are very welcome, Mrs. Northman, and I apologize for the inconvenience."

I smiled, hearing my new name spoken by another person for the first time. It sounded... different.

"I could really use that drink now," I said to Eric.

"Of course, dear one."

"Would you point us in the right direction?" I asked the administrator.

Mr. S. explained where the traditional bar was, and if we were looking for some place more tranquil, he recommended the Lounge Den on the ground floor.

Thanks to the virtual tours, I already knew where both were. But I was getting into a role, and every tiny detail added yet another believable aspect to the image of a common vampire-human bonded couple Eric and I had agreed to play. It was time to walk the walk from one side of the building to the other.

The moment I turned my back to the very helpful Dillon S., I lowered the shields, bracing only the new filtering wrap to try and block the playing masses. I stopped noticing how my feet carried me forward, how the elevator took us down, how my head automatically bobbed in agreement when Eric asked me some nonsense.

I was in a huge bubble of endless images and thoughts of others. Once I overcame the momentary panic of drowning, I began scanning the transmissions coming obviously from the above – the Royal quarters and offices. Felipe was there, as human brains were on a slightly nervous alert, flushed with the snippets of him surrounded by other vampires - a large flock of voids somewhere above where Mr. S.' station was located. Snarly red of different shades was also present, and another strong current of linear two-natured thoughts was coming from the direction we were slowly moving in. This latter group was the part of the security staff that monitored the entire vampire wing through… hmm… screens… numerous screens… Oh! Eric and I passing in the hallway!

Call me selfish, I wanted to know if they were able to watch or hear us in our suite. I really hoped for a miracle, because spending the weekend under a constant surveillance would break me. I'd need a place to relax and drop the act, sure of my privacy. Already a ring of pain was closing down around my head. Advil was wearing off.

However, I ignored my growing discomfort – I was onto something.

I barely registered how we made it to the Lounge Den.

"This way," Eric guided me to an empty corner. He sat down first, on a chaise sofa, and padded the spot next to him. I bent my knees and let my body plop down. A waitress came up and said something; her lips were moving, but I heard her other voice instead: tired, sluggish, _feethurtwannagohome… _I made an extra effort and tuned her out, while the Viking ordered my usual and a True Blood for himself.

There were no other humans but her and only a few vamps in the bar aside from us, and, as expected, the closeness of the vapid voids helped me concentrate on the security officers again. Most of them were were-animals, but I was unable to discern what kind. I didn't scoop; I just targeted the collective source and opened my mental gates wide. It was easier than expected, because they were all focused on their jobs: observing, noting, checking.

When my glass had been emptied and Eric's bottle of True blood had been lifted and pressed to his lips a good dozen times, I decided I'd earned a break. The Lounge Den was a cozy space, filled with inviting chaises (perfect for a vampire to literally sit back and enjoy a live snack), low tiny tables, and cushy armchairs. Potted greenery added a dash of hominess, and I let myself relax a little. I wanted badly to stretch my arms to work out the kinks in my tense shoulders.

"How was your drink?" Eric asked, and the bond gave a pulse of worry and curiosity.

If I were the spy, he was the perfect handler.

"A bit rough for my taste, but the ingredients were quite distinguishable."

He nodded, reading between the lines.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement: two vampires to my right turned to us, and one of them held my gaze for a second, then glanced at Eric and inclined his head. It appeared they wanted to approach our table, and the Viking acceded a bit unenthusiastically, but his face didn't show any annoyance. I quickly composed my features and straightened my back.

They stood up slowly – I was sure, for my benefit – and I had enough time to take a good look at the both as they closed the distance between us. The first guy was tall and very skinny, and a short-sleeved light blue shirt did nothing to hide the sharp angles and bony lines of his upper body. He had a prominent nose, black hair, and very cold dark eyes. His shorter and fuller companion could be written off as a goofball. I'd never seen a vampire with cheeks round like an apple and an expressive mouth you'd expect to curve up in a wide bright smile at any moment. Of course, you'd never expect the owner of that very smile to flash you with two lethal fangs along the way. My pulse didn't pick up, though; I' had crossed the threshold when appearance could fool me like nobody's business a very long time ago.

"Lee Moe," said the skinny one, "Area One of Arkansas."

"Richard Boelsen, Area Three," the other said.

"Eric Northman, Area Five of Louisiana," Eric replied, rising to his feet.

This was an official moment, I felt. I didn't know if I should stand up next to Eric or what.

"Please, sit," the Viking waited for a few moments as Sheriff Boelsen pulled an extra chair for himself and then folded back onto the chaise.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse Northman, my bonded and pledged," Eric introduced me, and a tiny thrill zipped through the bond. He wasn't in a habit of showing me off, but he was enjoying saying the words. Proud.

"How do you do, gentlemen," I said, keeping my hands in my lap and my knees drawn together.

The polite "Good morning, m'am" was all they addressed to me during the few minutes that followed.

"I congratulate the both of you on your appointments. May your lands be in peace and your people prosper," Eric said.

"Thank you, Northman. The wishes are mutual," Lee Moe replied.

For a second, I had an urge to ask him if he had anything to do with the disappearance of his predecessor. Yeah, it was a naughty thought, and I was tired. I pretended to be a doorknob and put up a very small smile on my face. There, I'm here, but no one's home.

"Although rumors have it in your area those are more than just wishes. Your establishment is quite successful, I hear," Mr. Goofball added.

"Three years in business is usually not enough to establish a steady record, but so far we fare well," Eric cautiously commented.

The three stooges… er, sheriffs lost me after that. I couldn't follow the political chat even if my life depended on it. I took the moment and plunged back into the sea of thoughts, hoping to clarify for myself a few discoveries.

It was a bad idea. The painkiller was either too weak by now, or out of my system completely. A pressure headache pounded in my temples, and a sharp pain stabbed me in my gut. I hadn't had cramps like this since I was a teenager.

"Sookie?" Eric's voice brought me out of my trance.

"Yes," I automatically replied and then blinked. Shit, I completely missed out on what he'd just said! The urge to touch my face to check if the smile was still there was overwhelming.

Thankfully, the two intruders were about to leave. "Good day, Mrs. Northman."

"It was nice meeting you," I said, stretching my lips to the sides and up. My muscles knew the routine and did the work for me.

Instead of charging the drinks to our room, Eric left cash on the table and led me out of the Lounge Den.

"Have you _seen _enough for the night?"

"Oh, yeah." I'd _heard_ tons of things, mostly rubbish, but there were some very important and useful bits and pieces I needed to tell Eric before any of it escaped my memory. Another spasm rippled through my lower abdomen, and I gritted my teeth.

"Sookie?" His voice was low and tense, but he was increasingly worried.

"It's just a headache."

"It is not."

"I'll sleep it off."

He didn't respond to that. His hand slid from the small of my back around my waist, not quite supporting me, but rather keeping me close. One of many things I appreciated about Eric was that he didn't treat me like I was some damsel in distress. He could let me deal with my issues on my own when I needed to, even if his protective nature was demanding that he take care of his bonded.

We were finally inside, and I kicked my heels off and unzipped and shimmied out of my skirt, stepping out of it and leaving it on the floor as I hurried to the bathroom. I paused to throw my blouse on the armchair in the bedroom and then closed the bathroom door behind me. "Give me a sec!" I said loudly and started the water.

I freed myself from my bra and panties. Despite the protection, fresh red had stained my underwear. I bit my lip, removing the tampon, but once I was done, I felt much better.

Why did it hurt like a motherhubber? Why now? Not the one to favor hospitals, I told myself a full physical was a must once I got back home. With all the changes my body was going through, I'd rather be safe than sorry. The question was if I'd find the right kind of doctor. Maybe, Dr. Ludwig?...

"Are you all right in there?"

"Yeah, just a minute!"

I quickly washed the stains off my panties, wrapped everything that had my blood on it in a cellophane liner I took out of the empty waste basket under the sink, then looked around to make sure everything was clear. "You can come in now."

Eric opened the door and slowly took a step toward me. His nostrils flared, despite my efforts, but perhaps he'd smell the blood no matter what I did. I was too sore to use another Tampax, and getting with him into the confines of the shower cube like this would be unfair to my vampire. Yet, I really needed the hot water to work the tension out of my achy muscles.

"What is it, my lover?" he asked.

I needed to talk to him, too, though. I signed. "I'm… you know. Will you be okay with that?" Ms. Eloquent.

I blinked, and I was in the shower with my own Norse warrior to tend to me. I'd never get tired of Eric's smart fingers gliding, pressing, caressing, kneading…

"I take it there are no cameras here, or have you lost all your inhibitions?"

My little striptease didn't go unnoticed.

"No cameras, only mics, but they aren't activated yet." I turned around and began lazily soaping his chest, running my fingers through the soaked downy curls around his nipples.

His fangs protruded a tip, despite his worry. I expected at least that - a vampire will always be a vampire, but his concern for me was the only emotion he'd let himself feel.

"I've got things to tell you."

By the time I was done, we had long finished washing each other and just stood under the hot water. Eric listened intently; his daggers had retracted, but his other part was unable to go back to sleep. I tried not to notice my own need, keeping my mind preoccupied with every detail I'd heard, including names, locations, and numbers. Once I got everything out of my hair, I took a breath. What a relief! The Viking had perfect recall; he'd absorbed the information I'd given him and had stored in that brilliant head of his, whereas I would inevitably forget some part or another. Now I felt as if my mind was unburdened and I could start writing anew again.

"Amazing," he said, kissing me on the forehead.

I smiled. It was time for more Advil.

I felt warmth pooling in my lower abdomen; a crimson string trickled down my inner thighs, mixing with water, flowing down my legs and swirling into the drain. I couldn't help it; I shut my legs close and looked down. No one had ever seen me like this, and although Eric loved my blood even as a sign of my womanhood, still, I felt mightily uncomfortable.

"We already had this conversation," he said quietly. "Shall I repeat that everything about you, in you, is mine and mine alone? That I love it all?"

Old habits die hard; becoming an emancipated femme was a process. I could lie under the sun stark naked granted no one would see me, I could have sex with Eric while on my period (in theory), but in this very moment my bleeding appeared to me as a bodily function. Unclean. Irksome.

Eric held me by my hips and pressed his body against mine.

"I need you, too," he murmured.

The sundown was close. I'd been listening to thousands of people for hours; now it was time to listen to my own instincts.

"Yes," I whispered. In just few hours, I had work to do, but I was already worried for him, for his safety. I needed us to reconnect once more before leaving him for the day in this strange hotel room.

He picked me up, and my legs locked around him.

EDITED OUT: EXPLICIT CONTENT, READ FULL VERSION ON THE MAIN BLOG

The first round of interviews was scheduled at noon. A wake up call came in at eleven, giving me just enough time to get dressed and order room service. I planted a kiss on my sleeping husband's lips and padded to the bathroom.

While the bedroom was furnished with light and elegant modern pieces and the interior was done in white, lemon yellow (exactly the color of Layette set Mrs. Fortenberry had gotten for Tara's twins) and contrasting rich brown, the bathroom décor brought about the feel of the luxurious and lavish style: warm terracotta of walls, deep blue and patterned tiles above the double sink top, and large oval mirrors in brass frames. A blooming white orchid reminded me of my own flowers back at the Glass house. Good thing I'd watered the plant before leaving.

As I brushed my teeth, I studied my reflection. Having slept like the dead, Mrs. Northman looked and felt better, my skin fresh and my eyes bright again. The bleeding had almost stopped, which surprised me a bit because it only my second day, but, my resolve firm in place about seeing a doctor, I stirred the thought away for now. At least, I didn't have to worry anymore about an occasional fang catching a whiff of fae or the X-factor.

Eric had picked my skirt and shoes I'd left in a trail on the floor last night; he'd also hung our dressy clothes we'd brought in the travel garment bags in the closet in the bedroom. I looked at the skirt laid on the sleeping chair next to my blouse; I'd worn both only for an hour, and they were still fresh, if a little wrinkled.

Quickly, I pulled on the yellow knit dress. Of course, the belt was nowhere to be found. Eric would be amazed at the speed with which I hung the remaining clothes and filled a couple of dresser drawers with the rest of our things in an attempt to discover the missing accessory.

Eric's pinstripe gray and my own black dress pants would need steaming, I thought as I fastened the metal snake inlaid with turquoise around my waist and slid on matching blue sandals with a modest heel. I'd be seated for most of the day, so I didn't worry about how tall I'd look, especially when the Viking wasn't next to me.

I had my shields up; it was the knock on the door that alerted me of the food being delivered.

"Andy, with the room service!"

I let the young man in after scooping him for confirmation. Two eggs over easy, bacon, toast, fruit salad, coffee and a glass of orange juice; no tricks. He rolled the cart into the living room, and I fished some cash out of my purse for a tip.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms. Stackhouse?" he asked.

"Mrs. Northman, please, and… yes, actually, I have some clothes that need steaming and ironing."

"I can take care of that, m'am," he nodded.

Andy said our clothes would be ready before the sundown and someone would bring them over after six, which was fine since I should be back in the suite by then. He took the pants, a couple of shirts and my skirt and blouse with him. When I asked how much it would cost, he assured me the service was "on the house," and so was my breakfast.

He left me puzzled. Pam had stressed before that sheriffs had a high rank at the royal court, but this seemed too good to be true. What was the deal with the attention and the complementary services?

I didn't let the thought meddle with me enjoying my meal, though, especially with the hot coffee.

I put on some light makeup, going for a natural look, and dabbed just a drop of Turbulence behind my ears. With a sigh, I lowered the shields and let the chaos in. The mental wave crashed down on me, and I grabbed at the sink counter to steady myself. Once I cast the new anti-gambling barrier, the level of noise became tolerable again. I took deep breaths and listened, searching for any mentioning of Eric or me.

Someone was thinking my name. Human. Man. A security officer. He was wondering if he could get me to conference room D and prep me in ten minutes. There was that clear ring to his thoughts people usually have when they concentrate on some important task, banning every other secondary concern.

I locked the bathroom door from the bedroom side, then put the latches in the right position and shut the double doors separating the living room from the bedroom. In theory and according to the room service manual, no one could access the room from the outside. The sleeping vampire was safe, being the only one to be able to open up, from the inside. The entrance from the bathroom was secure, since the door knob from that side didn't even have a lock, but what about the other point of entry? Yes, the hotel was designed for vampires, but I wasn't ready to trust so easily.

My career as an undercover spy required special creativity. I pulled a single hair and tied it in a loop around the door handles on the double doors. The blond string was practically invisible against the shiny gold of the metal and would tear at the attempt to open the doors.

If I could roll my eyes at myself, I would. I was acting ridiculously childish, but my little device made me feel better.

When the security officer Bruce Stanton arrived to escort me, I surprised him by being ready to roll right away. My punctuality earned me some brownie points, but I was a long way from Bruce liking me (not that I cared). On the positive side, he didn't care about my breasts. I found it refreshing and indulged myself by scooping him as thoroughly as I could, since he chose not to engage into a social conversation or discuss our assignment in front of others. We passed a cleaning crew's cart in the hallway, and immediately Bruce's mind supplied me with the maintenance schedule: one round to clean bathrooms and other rooms if there were any, so that the undead guests would rise to a clean shower and fresh towels, and the second round after dark to change the sheets and tidy up the bedrooms. The employees were glamoured into restraining from entering the locked chambers under any circumstances. Should they find or hear anything suspicious, they were to report to the head of the security on the floor immediately. Walkie-talkies. Hmm. This meant the person in charge and those higher in the chain of command indeed had access to the bedrooms even if they were properly locked.

Each guest floor had a security team of three people, some of them humans, some were-animals. The night shifts were headed by a Were or a vampire officer.

It's really amazing how human brain works. One thought is followed by another, and another, and that string pulls on images and associations attached to the main idea, like fish bones on the spine, only more complicated – sort of three-dimensional. Being in Bruce's head wasn't all that unpleasant, because he was in a strictly business mood. He could be a very useful source of reliable information, if it wasn't for a fuzz of glamour that kept appearing on a periphery. Was that why he was able not to think about our mini task-force until we reached the sixth floor?

"The schedule is pretty packed," he said, letting me through first, "But we'll break for thirty at three, and of course, you can take a moment whenever you need to. Today we'll be speaking to the employees, fifteen-twenty minutes for each. Tomorrow – contractors and human business partners of Mr. de Castro."

Geez Louise, did Bruce even know how my telepathic reading worked?

He continued: "Since I'm familiar with most of the staff, I'll be conducting the interviews, and you will be screening each person in the process. You can ask your own questions, but if you find anything critical let me know." _Rightonthenotepad. _

I didn't say anything to that. Bruce was vague on the details, and his careful approach raised a red flag.

The conference room was a perfect imitation of what I'd seen on TV many times – a long, polished to a perfect shine maple table and a dozen high-tech looking chairs. There was coffee, a fruit basket, and baked goodies on top of a matching credenza. I wished they had biscuits with patience and rolls of good faith.

Bruce pointed to one of the chairs and then sat next to me, unbuttoning the jacket and pulling the legs of his pants up a little so as not to wrinkle the navy blue suite. The fabric of the sleeves was strained around his biceps, and the shirt collar was almost choking him. How was he still breathing? And managing to wear a tie, too?

"We're being recorded," he told me, squaring his beefy shoulders. "In the beginning of every interview I'll state my name, the date and time, the person we're going to speak to, then you'll also verify your name for the record. For all intents and purposes, you are the new HR associate helping me with quarterly personnel reviews."

I couldn't understand the slight apprehension that had made its way into his thoughts.

"I don't see a camera," I said to trigger the associations in his mind.

"There's one behind the mirror."

"It's one sided," I glanced at a large mirror above the credenza.

"Yes. Later a transcript will be printed off the video for our employees to sign; this way we eliminate the need for a secretary to take notes."

I suspected the other reason being to record _me_, for the vampire senior staff to check my work once they rose for the night. Would Felipe be one of the watchers? I didn't find a confirmation in Bruce's head; either he didn't know or was glamoured to forget he ever did.

I felt like a rabbit in a lab. There wasn't anything I could do about it, though, except for what I'd been "invited" here for – a job.

I poured myself a cup of coffee; Bruce politely refused when I offered one to him and started the only computer in the room he thought of as a thin client. What, no paper files?

"Do you mind telling me what it is I'm supposed to be looking for?" I finally inquired.

"I'll be asking each person a set of pre-selected questions. You need to determine if their answers are truthful."

He was playing tight lips with me, but his behavior was corrupted with glamour. On top of his attitude, there was something his bosses didn't want me to know about these interviews. Secretive, always secretive. What a surprise.

"Charlie, we're ready in five," Bruce said into his radio, typing something quickly, as I took my seat again. "Let's begin. This is Bruce Stanton, Security Division, badge number H3847. Today is June eighteenth, 2011, twelve-o-six p.m. Conducting the first interview with Melanie Gordova, the executive day assistant to the head of maintenance of Block C., here with me…"

"Sookie Stackhouse Northman."

Mrs. Gordova was a bit timid. I chalked it up to the weird questions. In laymen terms, the woman ran errands during the day for a vampire whose position could be best described as a glorified building super. She had a certain degree of fear of him, which was a healthy instinct, I'd think. Bruce grilled her for all ten minutes. Was the information on her application truthful? Had she ever had or was she currently involved in any kind of a relationship (define relationship!) with a vampire, aside from her working duties? How did she like working at Hacienda? Had she ever broken the protocol in any way?

I turned my attention to the man. Through slight fuzz, I heard some supplies had gone bad, and the hotel had to get rid of a test shipment of high end soaps among other things. A foul play was suspected: an employee/employees had stolen the product and then tried to cover up by arranging a water leak to destroy what hadn't been taken. The management believed Mrs. Gordova knew who did it or at least could lead them to the thieves.

Who was dumb enough to steal from vampires?

The poor woman was getting more and more shaky, and I was getting more and more frustrated. What the hell? The officer's voice was very calm, but that was scaring Mrs. Gordova even more. Her worry and panic of being terminated distorted the broadcast. In the back of my mind, I found it very strange that my services were required to solve the crime of murdered soaps. _This _couldn't be what Felipe would want to spend my time on. The only reasonable explanation was that Melanie Gordova was a test. Fine, then.

Her hands were now trembling, and she hid them under the table. I got up, distracting Bruce for a moment, and went to the snack station to get her a glass of water.

"Here, Mrs. Gordova," I handed her the glass and put my free hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner. Bruce went silent. _Getthetelepathoutofbackwater louisiana… butyoucantgetthebarmaidoutof thetelepath._ I glared at him, and he gulped.

By the time Mrs. Gordova was finished with her drink, she was calm enough to continue.

"Thank you," she gave me a weak smile.

I kept my hand on her shoulder. She was a good person – as much as any person could be considered good – and, a few minor indiscretions aside, had no horrible skeletons in her closet. She did her work dutifully and had an excellent track record in meeting deadlines (no pun intended.)

"Mrs. Gordova, you've been very helpful today. This is just a quarterly performance review, that's all. I understand you were the one who discovered the damaged supplies?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any ideas as of what might happened?"

"Well, hmm," _couldbeSunny_… red short hair… stubborn chin… brown with gold uniform… _damn soap… allergies… sneezeeverytimehepassesme… _"A fire alarm must have gone off. I was going downstairs to get some samples for Mr. De Soto, and the storage room was like an aquarium."

I thanked her and indicated to Bruce I had no more questions for her. Once the interview was over, she fled the conference room quicker than I could count to three.

"All right, Mr. Stenton. She has a very week suspicion based on almost nothing but thin air." I told Bruce what I'd found. His apprehension had grown to be the size of a large house, and I could finally see the reason: he despised that I was reading – violating – his mind, and he was powerless to stop me; yet he was here, working with me, bound by duty and ambition.

I hate vampire trickery! Always a test, always on my toes, even when the sun is up.

I took a sip of coffee, thinking through my options. If I were de Castro, I, too, would want to be sure that my telepath was reliable. He'd never witnessed my talent in action. He only had second hand reports and rumors about the extent of my ability.

Suddenly, I had a choice to make my gift seem less… precise. Would they leave me alone, then?

A moment of wishful thinking passed, but I was still irritated. Someone had taken time to glamour at least two people into going along with this idiotic game plan; at this point I wasn't even sure if Mrs. Gordova hadn't been set up to find the flooded storage room and discover the larceny as part of the scheme. So much effort put into evaluating my telepathy made me wonder just how important of an asset the King expected I'd turn out to be.

My patience was also being tested on this fine day. I didn't respond well to provocations, and unfortunately for Bruce he was going to be on the receiving end of my exasperation.

He was preparing to call the elusive Charlie again, when I spoke up: "Mr. Stanton, I understand you have protocol to follow, but nothing in your rules is adequate enough to deal with my telepathy. Now," I put up my hand when he opened his mouth to argue, "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

_Shit._

Exactly my point.

"You can tell me what you're reading on that computer screen of yours before each interview, like you did with Melanie Gordova. That's how you learned she had some knowledge of the theft." Because I was focused on the woman, I didn't register anything from him at first, but now he was transmitting loudly, confirming my every suspicion. "I will ask my questions first, then you can go ahead with yours." and aggravate these people all you want, I added in my mind.

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, but I cannot allow that."

"Or," I continued, ignoring his comment, "I will have to keep reading you _and _the interviewee at the same time. You know what will happen if I do that? It'll take longer to get to the truth and I'll have less details to report. Correct me if I'm wrong – you're here to help _me _do my job, not the other way around. I don't know what your superiors have instructed you to do, but I highly doubt they will appreciate you wasting my time. You're making it very hard for me to work."

If Bruce failed this task, he'd lose the promotion he'd been trying to get for months. The possibility of me reading something compromising in his mind and saying it aloud for the record bothered him even deeper.

"All right, Mrs. Northman. As you wish."

"Thank you. Who do we have next?"

I knew I kind of bit Bruce's head off and it wouldn't look too good for him when the vampires watched the recording, but I stood my ground.

In a couple hours, we took a short break to grab a bite, and I let myself relax while eating my grilled chicken salad. Bruce had mellowed down a little, as I kept gathering very useful information from every person we'd spoken to after Mrs. Gordova. I visited the ladies room and popped two more Advils. I hadn't used my telepathy so intensely for a very long time, and now I was getting a glimpse of what it would really be like to work for de Castro should he get a chance to snatch me from Eric. How long would I last?

"We're a little behind the schedule," Bruce said, preparing for the second round. His jacket was finally off, and he'd loosen his tie just enough to get a healthy dose of air into his lungs with every breath.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I was already very tired, and I didn't want to be stuck here until sundown. I reached into the bond to feel the Viking humming steadily.

"Are there any questions you can eliminate?" I asked.

"I'll try."

He really did. We were finished just a few minutes past six.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the same time," Bruce said. He'd escorted me back to the suite and was waiting for me to get inside.

"Sure. Thanks for cutting it short. It's getting harder to read people when I'm tired," I confessed. Tomorrow was going to be another long, hard day, and I thought Bruce should know about this limitation of mine. After all, we were in the same boat.

"I understand. I'll see if I can change a few things on the schedule, push more important interviews up, leave the easier stuff for later."

I nodded, "Good idea."

I had an hour before Eric would rise. I checked the doors – no one had entered the bedroom while I'd been away. Maybe, I was overreacting. Then I shrugged it off. No one needed to know how worried I was leaving Eric alone. On the positive side, the interviews had been more productive in ways I hadn't anticipated. The day hadn't been spent completely in vain.

My shields were up. With a major headache nestled in my body's penthouse, I was dying for a shower and a nap snuggled in bed with my vampire. Our clothes were delivered as I was about to undress – perfect timing, since I'd completely forgotten about the arrangement I'd made with Andy.

Eric was asleep in the same position I'd left him in. Clean and naked, I crawled under the covers and wiggled my way into his embrace, lifting the heavy arm and draping in over myself. I twined my fingers through his and brought his hand to my lips for a kiss. The void of his mind and the warmth of the bond enveloped me, and I was out.


	2. Ch 2: Unconventional Methods

Trap by Lavaspawn *ARTWORK*

**EPOV**

One of the advantages of sleeping like the dead is that a resting vampire experiences no emotions, worries, or sensations, for mind and body barely function, with the active essence shrunk to an infinitesimally small shred of blue, close to obliteration. I have learned that, while the sun is above the horizon, the blue fields are normally flat, dull, and almost completely devoid of pattern flows. Of course, an extreme disturbance of the energy, like severe pain or a blood call – the obvious signals to fight and survive – is capable of breaking this general law of the dark magic. Sookie has awoken me twice in a stretch of a year, whereas the last time before Rhodes my daytime slumber was interrupted centuries ago when Constantine met his final death.

I've been contemplating Keaton's lot since I learned of his demise. When a vampire is drained, the process is always very painful. He does not slip into a dreamlike state, losing touch with reality. Instead, agony consumes his entire being. Keaton was weakened with the virus and silver chains and shackles. Perhaps, he was unable to attain full consciousness during the day, but he felt every moment of his undeath being taken away from him nonetheless, I am certain.

Bleak thoughts like these always resurface in my mind first when I rise in an unfamiliar setting, wary of danger and deceit. Sookie is next to me, and hers is the only breathing I detect in the suite. I lie completely still, smelling, listening, searching for others with my energy. With caution, I release the globe, probing around in all directions and finding passive, dim blue and a great number of warm presences.

Despite the fact that my kind will remain deathlike for another hour or so, the floors of the vampire wing are busy with the commotion of humans and weres. I expand my coverage gradually, yet systematically. Assuming my location as the starting point, I begin scanning the plain of the floor our suite is on, marking the inert vampires and tracing the movement of breathers along the way. I quickly examine their trajectories and discern at least one pattern: a human (warm) and a were (warmer) steadily passing by in a straight line in opposite directions and then returning, crossing each other's paths. Could be security guards, walking from one end of the corridor to the other.

I stop the horizontal scanning once I reach what feels like an open space with no barriers and no people: I must be probing outside the walls now. I continue checking above, adding level after level to the mental three-dimensional plan I am drawing in my head. Humans. Weres. Some are moving constantly, some remain still, and others meander with purposes unclear to me. There are only breathers on the two floors occupied by de Castro's offices (according to Sookie), and then I come across a cluster of dormant dark magic above everyone else. These must be Felipe's people, resting in his royal quarters upstairs. Another dull blue, isolated from the undead group, is perhaps the king himself. Several warm presences are fixed nearby. I conjure these weres are his personal security for the day hours.

I do not attempt to decipher the movements in the penthouse and continue exploring the lower sections of the building: two other plains similar to mine, with more sleeping undead, a pair of guards pacing the long corridors, and more breathers (staff or guests, I have no way of knowing). Below the ground level of restaurants, shops, and such, there is a large warm concentration which I immediately associate with the sub-division of the Security services Sookie told me about in the early hours of the morning. Stationed underground, they monitor the common areas and listen to occupants of certain rooms. Somewhere in this chamber there is a hidden device. Has it been activated already? If so, I cannot give away my untimely alertness.

For a minute, I study the imaginary structure I have erected in my head, combining the results of my reconnoitering with Sookie's observations from the night before. In addition to the telepathic intelligence, I use some of the information I read on several websites she had found and left open on the computer at home for me to look through before our trip. Those visual tours help me approximate and add reliable distances to my three-dimensional scheme, dotted with slumbering vampires and numerous breathers.

With surprise, I realize that, below the underground level that houses the security watchers and the other service areas, there is a large hollow my bonded hasn't mentioned. The space is almost empty, warmed with a few bloodbags, but in the farthest corner I uncover one dull, nearly black and four much smaller, yet a bit brighter fields. I am puzzled at first. The vampire in question is obviously extremely weak, and the black gashes are similar to the tears that form due to silver poisoning. While I have a good idea who this undead is, the other healthy entities are a mystery to me. There is something very peculiar and alarming about the indigo of their barely functioning essence. I try to send a charge of my own magic to ignite their darkness for a few moments, hoping to reveal the secret; unfortunately, there are too many physical barriers to allow through anything more than the thin layer of my energy globe.

I ponder no more; if I am correct about the identity of the poisoned (or rather tortured, to be more accurate) vampire, the rest will come to light tomorrow, for the trial is the first event on Sunday night schedule, before the rehearsal reception.

Already, I see that it will be imprudent to keep my observing on such massive scale past the dusk, since there will be much more movement and the energy globe will be filled with unfamiliar fields and chaotic warmth. I choose to concentrate on Sookie and our immediate surroundings throughout the night, instead of spending time and effort monitoring everyone in the hotel.

Before retracting my magic, I decide to push farther, wishing to peek into whatever is occurring outside the building. Immediately, I cross the vast space of the center grounds with fountains and farther into the main hotel and casino of Hacienda to my right, and to my left, I intrude upon another lot and then the neighboring Planet Hollywood. The density with which bodies are packed inside relatively modest spaces intended for gaming is tremendous! And I am barely breaking through the one-mile radius zone. Gods, Sookie…

I recall my energy and channel its currents until my ice blue has calmed down and the patterns have settled to their normal tact, synchronized with my wife's pulse.

So far, I have not found anything suspicious or indicative of an imminent threat to us, and, for now, I am content to know that no one but me and my bonded has been in the bedroom since our arrival. I direct my attention to my woman's steady heartbeat against my chest. She has turned the cold bed into a warm nest soaked with the fragrance of mystery mixed with fae. The surrounding odd smells are irritating, and I inhale Sookie's scent, spiced with a dash of blood, to replace the sting of cleaning solutions, unmarred leather, and adhesives. Indeed, there is something to be said against new furniture; but even so, I prefer these artificial odors to other people's traces that hotel rooms are always filled with, regardless of the amount of labor put into wiping every surface clean and washing every rag, sheet, and towel.

My arm is slung over Sookie's side, palm pressed flat against her stomach. Slowly, my hand crawls up to the firm breast, cupping it gently and unobtrusively. Automatically, I note that the swelling is almost gone; the specific feel of engorged flesh has dissipated, and, judging by the subtlety of the distinct sharp smell of fresh blood, her menstrual flow has almost ceased.

It is far from normal for a vampire to be so attuned to his bonded companion's condition. A human is a possession, which in the best case may be valuable enough to care for, like an expensive car, or even turned at some point. The human's feelings or needs, other than the baser physical ones, are hardly ever taken into consideration, but there are rear exceptions known to me, such as Sophie-Anne's relationship with her favorite pet – Sookie's cousin. The queen loved Hadley deep enough to bring her over, for the breather had no special skills or talents worthy of preservation. Sophie-Anne didn't show her true feelings until after the events in Rhodes. The rumors had it that the distraught queen rumbled of both Hadley and Andre for hours when she wasn't quite lucid.

Even so, I do not expect anyone to understand why my wife's wellbeing is so crucial to me, why I believe that every new development or symptom, no matter how insignificant it may seem, must be properly examined.

She turns on her back and sighs. I catch a bitter streak on her breath. Her eyes open, and she just looks at me, unspoken longing and relief trickling into the bond. Then, with sudden worry, she touches the tip of my nose with a small finger, and I shake my head in negative: I smell no one but us in here.

"Just checking," she whispers.

It is safe to speak, then; but why the low tone? I ask.

"One of the guards on this floor is a two-natured. Very good hearing. He likes eavesdropping in hopes to earn a promotion."

How fascinating, this gift of hers. With just a few words she has given character and personality to what I only perceived as a warm cloud in my dry mental 3D blueprint.

I claim my kiss. The bitterness is not a product of my imagination. Startled, I pull away. Poison? Contaminated food?

"Have you eaten or drunk anything unusual today?"

She stares at me, "No. Why?"

"You taste… differently."

Her skin tone and her eyes, though, do not bear any evidence of sickness, the only worrisome sign being her mild fatigue.

"Must be Advil," she murmurs.

How many has she had today? "How bad?" Her head and abdomen have been troubling her since last evening, despite my blood in her veins, and the fact that its healing effects on her have diminished in some ways unsettles me. Is this how the new balance of powers will be achieved? Will my enhanced darkness increase her magic but somewhat lose the ability to cure and rejuvenate her body? No, that cannot be the case, for it is that very ability that is responsible for prolonging the high-bonded companion's life span: one of Gòro's accounts, recorded in the Archives, specifically mentioned that. There must be another explanation to why Sookie is resistant to my blood's mending quality.

She shrugs, sighing again. "Not as bad as I expected, but I had to block everyone out, except for the interviewees. I wish I could keep listening, but there were too many people around…"

"No more mindreading for the rest of the night," I whisper back to her. It is difficult to produce a stern whisper, but I do my best, supporting my hushed tone with a worried look. "And as soon we finish our formal business, we're coming back here for you to sleep. No mingling."

She gives me a defiant glare. "I may hear something important."

"First and foremost, I do not care for you exhausting yourself. Second, you have another round of interviews tomorrow. You need to be in your best shape for that." Aside from my primary concern with her health, I must consider broader implications: no one may notice her weakness, for it can be interpreted as my failure to properly protect and provide for my pledged, including feeding her insufficient quantities of my blood. I do not wish to create unwelcome pretenses to question our bond or my control over the telepath. When de Castro was in Area Five after the takeover, I used every stealthy and elusive tactic known to me to convince him that Sookie would be better off under my care, and the stipulation that the bond would tremendously aid in keeping her happy and, therefore, her telepathy trustworthy was among the chief arguments he seemed to accept. Sookie's saving us from deranged Siegbert supported his belief that my human heeled nicely.

The king could not be farther from the truth, but I rather he remains ignorant about his error.

"I'm not in mood to argue," Sookie replies, more weary than irritated. "I'm much better now, so I'll play it by the ear."

I suggest what I presume to be a reasonable course of action: I shall monitor the vampires, while Sookie will listen only to a few humans associated with Victor. If I find anything suspicious, I will let her know to switch the direction of her efforts.

She concurs. "Piece of pie. I can zoom in on a brain or two and keep everyone else out."

"You should take my blood," I say. It will give her extra strength and mask the traces of the medication in her system.

"I don't think it'll help with the headache. I think you can still fix me, well, physically, but when it comes to my own powers, your magic stimulates mine, though, doesn't help with the side effects."

Her theory fits what little facts we have about the high bond and the X-factor and also doesn't contradict the information provided by the live source.

"Then take it to feel better everywhere else," I slide my fingers into her hair and carefully spread them wide, enjoying the sensation of the silky strands between my digits. If only I could take her aches away with my touch… My thumb ghosts over her smooth cheek, and I lean closer for another kiss. "Besides, I want you to smell of me, my wife," I add, allowing my excitement to leak into the bond. It cannot be helped: no matter when, where, or how, having this gorgeous creature naked, by my side, will always make me… eager and hungry. Eager to give, hungry to take.

"Okay," she smiles for the first time this evening. "But don't you want to know what I've learned today? I'd say let me talk, before you make me forget everything."

I graciously accept Sookie's compliment to my lovemaking skills and arrange us comfortably under the covers. For a while, she whispers into my ear, and I let my mind work, simultaneously indulging myself with her delicious closeness. Her memory is overflowing with information; some of it appears insignificant, and some is potentially very helpful and important. I am in no position to be selective, though, and am grateful for her efforts, for even the most trifle detail may prove extremely vital under right circumstances.

Part of my brain processes and filters the new data, matching whatever is feasible against the overall power board. Felipe has more resources than he leads on to believe: the hotel and casino next to Hacienda – Ballys Las Vegas – also belong to him, and this fact is a secret his people are sworn and glamoured to protect. In spite of all precautions, the rumors have found their way through the grapevine, for it is known that de Castro has more than one gaming establishment, although no specifics have ever been mentioned. It so happened that during today's interviews Sookie "scooped" one of the executive assistants to the vampire CPA on royal staff (this undead's position is the equivalent to the title of corporate CFO, she clarifies) who was tasked with compiling data for a comparative analysis of both businesses.

For the coronation weekend, Felipe is planning to house his monarch guests in villas at Hacienda and Ballys. While the latter is not publicly associated with vampires, certain improvements were made to turn most of its suites and all villas into light-tight quarters. The scope of these renovations also included installing hidden spy cameras. This is a risky and bold move for de Castro; if so much as a single device is discovered, a huge scandal is inevitable, at minimum.

"The rest of Hacienda suites are bugged, but no cameras," Sookie continues. "And we've been lucky, because a couple of hours before we checked in, they installed a bunch of defective mics on this floor." The plan is to send in a technician, disguised as a member of the night cleaning crew, as soon as we leave for the briefing. He will need to physically check or replace the malfunctioning microphones.

These facts Sookie dug out of the mind of one Patrick O'Donovan, the day chief of Hacienda maintenance, who supervised the first installation of the spy equipment in the vampire wing. Surprisingly, his memory hasn't been erased or replaced, perhaps because he needs to complete his task first.

I am unpleasantly stunned, as I learn more about the complexity of the chain of command de Castro implemented in Nevada. There are too many management levels; an excessive number of day assistants, administrators, and other supporting staff; complicated hierarchy; vampires using glamour unwarranted or not using it when needed – I take it all into account, both as a weakness of the king and a warning to myself for the future. I have no solid theories as of why de Castro keeps Bally's ownership a secret, but the resulting separation of his offices must be costly and detrimental to his operations. However, he has no choice but to overspend on keeping double staff in certain departments, such as Human Resources and Accounting, since the two business entities cannot be openly joined. Also, it occurs to me that a good portion of positions at his court is simply a cover up for those of his people who are involved in the human trafficking, pit fights, and other illegal activities. That may explain the large number of assisting employees – someone needs to actually work, without asking too many questions.

Although the preparations to the coronation are haste, as Pam duly noted, de Castro ordered a massive final run-through. The term is familiar to me from the times when cinema wasn't yet invented: it refers to the last rehearsal before the actual show, when the entire cast of actors performs with no audience, with their makeup, hair, and costumes in full order.

"Now the hotel's personnel go through every department with a fine comb: the security, the kitchen, the laundry, the cleaning, the pool, even a personal trainer in case if one of the vampires brings along a human health nut," Sookie softly laughs. "Everyone around here is running around on their toes, treating all of us like we're VIP's, but they're actually _rehearsing, _that's why the complimentary room service and breakfast an'all."

I don't find this bit of information surprising, and Felipe's executive decision does not reflect negatively on my rank, since I am not the only one who's been included into this run-through. Two weeks from tonight, I will still have secure rooms in this very wing for me and my two underlings, and Sookie will be given the same level of attention as she is at the present. Besides, not only this building is undergoing the readiness test: the soft opening of Hacienda's main hotel and casino was last Sunday, and a limited number of breathers were allowed to gamble and stay as guests for the same purpose – to oil the machine of internal operations before the coronation and the grand opening.

Every now and then, while the nosy security is passing by, Sookie's voice drops to a whisper. The sundown is upon us, when she finally tells me about the other test – the one she was subjected to in the beginning of the interviews. She acted wisely, affirming her important position, although she admits that for a minute she felt bad for bashing the human who is assigned to run the interviews with her.

"But I had to," she keeps on, and I detect no remorse in her tone and no conflict in the bond. She thinks that, because Stanton was slightly glamoured, he was merely a tool in evaluating her gift and, therefore, should not get into trouble with his masters for letting her call the shots. "And if Felipe needed a confirmation that I can really do it – read people's minds – then he has it, all six hours and forty some minutes on tape, or CD, or whatever they use."

"They were recording you?"

"Yes. Bruce said it was only for transcripts, but I find it hard to believe."

Indeed, the goals for arranging this seemingly absurd assessment may not be limited to verifying the extent of Sookie's ability. It could also be a personality test, which, in my opinion, she passed admirably, and I tell her so.

She frowns, "I'm not a push-over. I'm glad that I could show I can handle myself. And I didn't want them to think they can fool me with some stupid trick like missing soap. But… it's a double edge sword, Eric. I've learned a lot about Felipe's internal business, and tomorrow I'm meeting his human vendors and business partners. He probably thinks that whatever I know, you know. There must be some way for him to make sure we don't talk or try to use this sensitive information against him."

I understand her worry: becoming privy of the Crown's affairs means getting involved into Felipe's world deeper than desirable. Among other things, this may lead to a request to relocate to Las Vegas eventually. The logical argument is that Felipe doesn't trust me, and he doesn't make it a secret; thus, keeping a closer eye on his well-informed telepath is a possibility he will try to explore, with or without me in the picture.

"My signature on your contract is his insurance. If you breach the agreement, I will bear the full responsibility."

"Because of the bond."

"Because you are mine. I could be imprisoned or even killed, and Felipe knows you'll try to avoid that at any cost."

She pulls away to look at me, "And I'll be spared. Punished in some twisted way, but kept alive."

"I will do whatever I can to reassure him of my loyalty," I say. We both know that her gift is too unique to be destroyed, whereas I am a sheriff – dispensable, no matter how much profit I may generate for the kingdom.

With a shake of her head, she closes her eyes for a moment, mouthing almost silently, "I hate these games."

_You and I, both._

I make her forget, alas, not for long. The dark has fallen, and I fulfill my promise thoroughly without concerning myself with the need to keep her sweet moans private. My own roar is muffled, as I cum powerfully - fangs and cock sheathed inside her. I take less than mouthful, and Sookie bites hard on my neck, while I'm still spilling my seed into her hot depths. Together we tremble with another wave of bliss, her repeating my given name in ecstasy, me caressing her hard nipple with my tongue and teeth.

She hurries to clean up, for we have no time left for a lengthy shower; apparently, Sookie doesn't mind my scent emanating off her body. A drop of blood heals the bite wounds on her breast instantly. I have marked her as mine in other no less significant ways, including the starred sapphire ring on the index finger of her right hand, a delicate platinum watch on her left wrist, and a strand of freshwater pearls around her slender neck. The incredible luster and the gentle overtones of each large white gem contrast beautifully against her tanned skin, emphasizing its natural and healthy glow.

I find my garments in the living room on a rack – the trousers freshly steamed and the dress shirts ironed, and I thank my woman for her thoughtfulness.

"Can't let you walk out of here in wrinkled clothes. Your colleagues would think me a lousy wife," she responds playfully, but there is only a hint of sarcasm in her smile; her wish to care for me is genuine and is not aimed at spectators. "The jacket was fine. I left it in the closet."

While she dresses, I start my laptop and connect to the Internet. The broadband speed is annoyingly slow even for a vampire with mediocre reactions, and I shut everything down after looking at the senders' column in my Inbox and finding no one important enough to reply right away. I check my voice messages; Pam reports all is fine ("boring as hell"), and Raven informs me there has been no unusual activity in the woods near Sookie's farmhouse.

I pull a large envelope with Area Five paperwork I have brought with me per the king's request, including two sets of Sookie's signed labor contract for the weekend. The document was part of the package sent with the invitations, and I had Cataliades go over it to make sure there were no hidden obligations, since I am not familiar with the Nevada contract law. The compensation is based on the hourly rate, and at the time I deemed it fair. Now, given Sookie's condition, I wish I could renegotiate for more; unfortunately, it is not possible without revealing her discomfort and the true source of it.

"I'll eat after the briefing," Sookie says when I ask if she's hungry. I pour her a glass of orange juice. Humans claim it is laden with good vitamins and antioxidants; I only wish for my wife to have no other contributing factors to her headache, and an empty stomach definitely is.

While she is arranging her hair up, I stand behind her, helping her zip the dress – the one she wore to the fitting at the Ritz Carlton. I watch her in the mirror, as she puts a small plastic container with Advil in a secret compartment in her bag.

"The pills are just in case, Eric," she rolls her eyes at me. "All my shields are up, old and new."

She sees my eyebrow go up questioningly.

"There's the usual one, and I can also filter the players out. They have a specific tone to their thoughts," she explains. "But there's so many of them, I have to constantly concentrate on bracing this new shield. Don't be surprised if I seem off, like last night."

After scanning the human swarm earlier with my energy, I have a much clearer understanding of the assault her mind would have endured if it weren't for this new barrier she has been able to create.

"Your reaction is reasonable, given the intensity of the task you've been performing for hours with a very short break," I reply, looking at her meaningfully. If Sookie's lack of attention is noted tonight, I can use it to mention her limitations: she may not abuse her skill, for the quality of her work diminishes when she is tired. She is a valuable asset, yes, but she must be treated very well, and I am the only one suited for the job: this is the position I intend to adhere to with Felipe.

"Oh. That's right," she nods, catching up. "Too much mindreading will do that to me."

On our way to the elevators we pass the night cleaners in the hallway. Shortly, they will reach our suite; there will be no more hushed whispering in bed for Sookie and me until the end of our stay at Hacienda.

The meeting is held in a conference room on the sixth floor.

"I was in another one, farther down the hall," Sookie says to me quietly, as we present our key-cards to the security by the doors. He scans the magnet strips on the back of the cards and returns both to us, "Sheriff, Ms. Stackhouse, go right ahead."

Inside, I immediately spot the mongoloid face of Lee Moe and Boelsen's short, stocky frame filling the wide armchair. The rest of vampires and humans are strangers to me. The formal attire and cold expressions of my kind do not mask the agitation of varying degree, prevailing in their essences. These must be the other sheriffs and their second-in-command, as well as a few involved breathers. A head count suggests that only Arkansas and Louisiana territories participate in this briefing. My energy encounters two other fields on the outer side of the conference room – a mild blue with intricate patterns and a much lighter one, with complex but strict structure. Sookie and I take seats at the nearest end of the table, with our backs to the mirror (obviously, one-sided) and the observers behind it.

Sookie smoothes the dress over her thighs, as she sits down, and then buttons the light knitted black cardigan. The current of chilled air is blowing into her direction, and I silently indicate to her we should switch places, for I do not care for AC, whereas her skin has already shown the signs of what she refers to as goose bumps.

Once we settle, the younger vampire enters the room, shutting the door behind him, while his older (not necessary elder) companion remains a hidden witness to the meeting.

His name is Paul Valetti, and he is a junior Lieutenant to Felipe de Castro. After a quick round of introductions (all my peers, but no one from Nevada, as suspected), he goes over the schedule for Saturday and Sunday night, mentioning a few changes. The audience with the king will be held later tonight, and Valetti touches upon the topics of discussion on the agenda and explains the procedure of the oath of allegiance.

"As his Majesty's Second Lieutenant, I am authorized to inform you that the Crown has decided to spend the entire night on the matters related to the kingdom's internal affairs. Tomorrow, however, we are expecting the representatives of other monarchs. Your utmost attention and courtesy to our guests is required."

Observe and report – that goes without saying.

"Your humans may mingle with the outsiders during the day, but they are your responsibility," Valetti looks round the room, not singling anyone out with his piercing eyes. Meeting no objections, he continues: "Also – and this is very important for all of you – under no circumstance will you let anyone use your key-cards. These are you individual passes, and you must keep them with you at all times. Levels five and six, the Throne Room on the seventh floor, as well as the vampire game rooms downstairs, are open to V4 and V3 pass-holders. V3's are also allowed to the rest of level seven, and V4's only on invitation."

One of the undead inquires about H4 zones. Thanks to Sookie, I already know that that is the lowest clearance level normally assigned to breathers Pam calls favorite feed-and-fucks – not bonded but claimed humans traveling with their masters. H3 through H1 are given to the human employees, depending on the nature of the service/job and the area they need access to. Surprisingly, Sookie has V3 clearance, which is a testament to how high the king's hopes are for my wife and her gift.

"H4 are allowed on the guest floors," Valetti replies briskly, "And only under vampire supervision and with special permission in the Throne Room and common areas on the seventh floor."

The rest of the briefing goes on without any interruptions. In the end, the Lieutenant advises that, before we depart on Monday, each of us must complete a survey about our stay in the hotel, answering truthfully and fully to the best of our knowledge and experience. Seeking feedback – a sound business decision, indeed.

"If you have no further questions, leave your paperwork with me on your way out," Valetti concludes the briefing.

I add my envelope on top of the stack of documents other vampires have produced – most likely, originals related to the businesses in the newly acquired states.

"I'm starving," Sookie says while we're waiting for the elevator.

"We have a little time," I reply, letting her through first. "Would you like to pick a restaurant in the hotel?"

"I'd love that! I'm just dying to try some sushi or even sashimi…"

A pale hand appears between the elevator doors, preventing them from closing completely. "I'm afraid that's not possible," Valetti's voice is more pleasant than his formal and slightly disdainful tone he adopted for the meeting. "His Majesty would like to see you both now." He steps inside, the stack of collected papers in his left. "But his personal kitchen is at your service, Mrs. Northman. Anything you like, and – believe me – if you are to try raw fish, you'd rather have Chef Gaston slice it for you."

Sookie smiles a modified, softer version of that full-on fake grin of hers, "Why, Mr. Valetti, so nice of his Majesty and you to offer. I didn't realize the king has a personal chef. How unwise of me."

"Not at all. That is something new we have just started trying out." He turns to me, "Our guests appreciate that their favorite companions and important humans are treated well at any time of day and night."

Naturally, a pet owner likes when his valued breather receives a quality care – it is a sign of respect to the owner himself. I speak a due praise to Felipe's prescience, noting to myself that Valetti addressed Sookie by her married name. The clerk must have already put the notification through.

I use the short ride up to explore the top level of the building with my energy and find a great commotion of several species; I also find the light blue field of the vampire who was watching us from behind the mirror.

Another check post stops us as we step out of the elevator into a brightly lit, large busy lobby. Valetti flashes his card on a tall vampire in the standard uniform of the royal security service, consistent of black suit and tie, white shirt, two daggers strapped to the belt, a blue fang and a very composed face. My and Sookie's passes are scanned by the other guard, almost identical to his partner with a massive build and broad shoulders.

"Sheriff Northman and Ms. Stackouse, going in," the first guard says to someone invisible. "Copy that."

Clearly, we have just been announced to another post. This place is filled with security, day and night, and I wouldn't blame Felipe if he was obscenely overspending on this division.

"The Throne Room is to the right," Valetty say. "I shall see you later, Sheriff," he adds, leaving Sookie and me in the lavishly arranged foyer.

As we advance in the indicated direction, I wonder if de Castro is fond of fountains in particular or if it is just a decorative solution to occupy the center of this large hall.

"Look, there's live fish in there," Sookie whispers, with a hint of excitement and then surprise. "Are these…?"

A weak ding of the elevator reaches my ears. I do not look back, but cast a thin ray of my energy, catching a distorted field that I did not come across this evening during my large-scale 3D endeavor. In less than a second, the undead gains on us, and I send a flash of warning to Sookie, as she spins around with her entire body, startled by the sound of a melodious voice that has interrupted her question.

"Pirañas can make very responsive domesticated pets, they say." Victor's smile grows a fraction wider as he notices her reaction to his vampire-fast appearance. "But one must always be aware of the danger: a beast is always a beast."

"Madden," automatically, I step a few inches ahead, slightly pulling Sookie's hand so that she would stand behind me.

"Northman, what a pleasure to see you and your bonded in Nevada." He inclines his head to the side to see Sookie better, pretending he hasn't noticed my protective movement. Sookie's fleeting nervousness is quickly transforming into anger, which is more dangerous, since Victor knows it is easier to provoke a human than a vampire.

"I hear you had a fruitful day's work today, Ms. Stackhouse," Victor says. He will do his best to irate her enough for her to act up on her indignation.

"I have?" she echoes without a smile, managing a quiet tone. I feel her fingers digging into my upper arm and send her a wave of calmness.

Victor chuckles, "I hope I don't take away from my King the pleasure of congratulating you first, but you helped expose a small ring of thieves at Hacienda. Imagine how upsetting it was to find that humans we have given many privileges to and trusted have been abusing the royal kindness."

"I am glad my wife could be of service to the Crown," I reply, in an attempt to halt this conversation. Victor's patters are abnormal. Twisted. Flowing backwards and then rushing in the right direction again. Breaking through and leaking into each other. What the fuck is wrong with him? "We are due before King de Castro, and I do not wish to appear rude by making His Majesty wait."

"Of course," he motions with his hand for us to move along. "By the way, have you ever seen pirañas feed? No? Such a pity. There was a demonstration here shortly past the sundown: the men responsible for the larceny that you, Ms. Stackhouse, assisted in unraveling were invited to wash their hands in the fountain."

Sookie's heart picks up at double rate, and she grips my elbow tighter. As Madden is strolling at my other side, he cannot see how pale her face has turned, but he can hear her breath coming in short bursts. This motherfucker will play her as long as he can get away with; if she slips, we both will find ourselves in trouble.

I reply for her, as calm as ever, "Pity indeed, but perhaps there will be another chance for us to witness the freshwater pets entertaining the court. You never know what else my wife may uncover."

We have reached the wide arched passage, and I stop, unwilling to go inside in Victor's company.

"It must be hard for you, Ms. Stackhouse, knowing you have caused human blood to be shed," he says, facing us. "But I hope you don't take it close to heart."

"I call the facts how I see them. The rest is up to His Majesty to decide," she replies, surprising me with how quickly she has gathered herself.

If disgust could kill, Madden would turn into a pile of ashes right here and now, on the white marble slabs of the shining floors. I would love to see Sookie's heels making a mark in that pile, but the best response to provocation is no response at all. For now.

"Your trust in the king's wisdom is commendable. Enjoy the evening, Northman." Victor disappears with the vampire speed.

Sookie takes a deep breath, absorbing the strength I send to her unrelentingly through the bond.

"I just lost my appetite for sushi," she mutters. I sense that, although she is unsettled with Madden's stunt, she is mostly in control of her emotions. The progress she has made in a matter of two weeks is amazing.

She relaxes her fingers on my arm, then loops hers through mine.

_Beautiful. Love you. Mine._

A slight blush colors her cheeks again upon her hearing my mental call. Oh, yes. Mine. All the way through. Fuck Madden and his fucking pirañas. It will take much more than that to ruin our plans, I think, as we enter the Throne Room.

The formal chamber is regal and monumental. If my calculations are correct, the Throne Room takes up no less than a quarter of the top two stories. The ceiling is high; the suspended large chandeliers spill the bright light over rich ornaments, reflecting off the polished marble. Hallways, created by arches with Moorish-like lace mimicking those outside Hacienda, and open terraces with balustrade above them run along the perimeter of the room up to the farthest wall, where de Castro's elevated throne is located. Humans and weres – guests and servants – are standing in and rushing through these superficial corridors, and I spot more black suites in the darker corners and on the balconies.

There is only minimal furniture arranged in the long hallways. The Throne Room is uncluttered, and the echoing voices and footsteps multiply the impressive effect of the large open space.

Few of my kind have gathered by the columns, on either sides of the dais. Their careful glances trail after us, as Sookie and I cross the Throne Room, following one of the guards. With interested, I study Felipe's royal emblem – a golden shield with a crowned black and purple eagle – masterfully inlaid in the gleaming stone under our feet and embroidered on large tapestries hung on the walls behind his grand armchair of carved dark wood and gold.

The throne is empty. Our guide does not slow down, however, and leads us to wide double-doors to the left from the dais.

"Go right ahead," the were says, letting us through into a regular-sized room. A direct opposite to the grand chamber, which is aimed to humble and intimidate, this place carries an informal ambience, created by thick carpets, comfortable looking sofas, and a large flat screen TV.

De Castro is reclined in a wide armchair, his jacket off, his feet, crossed in ankles, propped on a long oval coffee table. The "S" on the bottom of his shoes gives away the brand of a small family business in Spain, exclusively servicing human and vampire royalties in Europe for over a century. Personally, I do not favor the style, although the quality of their handmade footwear is outstanding.

Of course, even in this falsely friendly setting de Castro will always remind of his superior statute, be that with his relaxed posture and the absence of the tie, his expensive clothing, exquisite antique jewelry (ruby rings, as expected), or the slightly arrogant curve of his thick black eyebrows.

I approach the king, slowly releasing my energy again. Five vampires, old, Felipe being the oldest. No bonds here: no maker-child, no lovers, no blood exchanges among this group. Strictly professional environment at the court? It is too soon to judge, I decide. I will have a better idea of this type of connections once the official audience begins in the Throne Room.

I bow, and Sookie curtseys.

"Sheriff, Ms. Stackhouse, welcome."

"Your Majesty, good evening," I reply.

He gestures toward a vacant chaise in front of him across the table, and I sit, with Sookie by my side.

"My council," Felipe says, and the other vampires take the two words as an order to introduce themselves: Yashimo Takashi Sookie referred to as the CFO – an Asian undead with colorful tattoos sneaking up to his neck and around his wrists; Maria Rivera, the head of staff – a thin, dark-skinned brunette with bright-red lipstick and long claw-like nails, wearing a tight unblemished white leather dress; and Anàn Paleski, the tall head of security and maintenance – clearly of Slavonic ethnicity, with bright blue eyes, reddish hair and freckles on his white face.

The vampires are seated on the wide sofas to the king's right and left, and I observe them quickly and carefully while each of them speaks up. Rapidly streaming, predominantly straight patterns indicate their submission to the leader; but at the moment, the man I am most interested in is standing behind Felipe's chair. Eugene Harold – the Chief Investigator of the Crown, one of the officers closest to the king, and the carrier of the remarkably composed light blue darkness I detected next to Paul Valetti before the briefing. This is the mastermind that brought Castello down, but overlooked Madden's maneuvers in Arkansas.

Harold is rather short, about 5'9"; however, he has an air of subdued authority about him. His wavy chestnut hair is touched with gray, giving away his mature turning age. The pale complexion is emphasized by surprisingly bright full lips, currently pursed in a dispassionate line. The wide dark eyes and the strong jaw remind me of Constantine. Harold's gray suite, blue shirt, and navy tie make him a perfect background to Felipe's more flashy appearance, but that's just that – appearances. I must beware of this undead; he may be more dangerous than all security guards in Hacienda combined.

Valetti comes in through the doors on the other side of the windowless room, carrying a few folders and a thin tablet in his hand. He silently puts the documents before Felipe and steps back.

"I have reviewed the results of your work, Ms. Stackhouse," de Castro says, with a slight accent.

I sense her balance being thrown off and attribute the growing tension to the five pairs of eyes fixing on me, then on her. I channel strength and pride into the bond, and her pulse begins slowing down.

"I'd like you to clarify this part for us." He gives a sign to Valetti to turn the TV on.

As we look at the screen, Sookie's confusion and anxiety peek immediately.

We are watching a part of the interviews she conducted today. Her voice is clear and firm, _"…the matter of personal opinion. We need to form better targeted questions, to trigger a recall of facts. This man maybe guilty in overusing the company phone, but everything else is questionable…_"

Another sign, and the recording freezes on pause.

"I was explaining to Mr. Stanton that there's a difference between the facts and subjective individual opinions," she says, meeting de Castro's steady gaze. "When you ask a vague question, there's a lot of irrelevant stuff floating in person's mind. Telepathy is not an exact science, especially when I see things happening through a stranger's eyes."

"If your skill is not as exact as it may seem, how can we trust that what you hear is one hundred percent true?" the head of security interrupts her.

"I read minds, Mr. Paleksi, not Tarot cards," she replies sharply. "My _gift _lies in determining if the person is sincere or not, but everyone has his own version of truth, like it or not. Sometimes, it can be confirmed, and sometimes, it's just an opinion, as I was telling Mr. Stanton."

"No one is claiming that you provide unreliable information," Felipe says, with a calm warning. "We have already established a few of your findings to be very… eh, on spot."

Sookie lowers her eyes and takes a breath. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. What I was trying to explain to Mr. Stanton was that we were dealing with opinions in context, and not just facts, because some questions were too broad."

"Please, go on."

"Well, for instance the man we had just finished talking to – one of Mr. Paleski's day assistants – had thoughts of his terminally ill mother, and guilt was tainting his every answer. Whether it was because he couldn't be by her side or because he was calling the nurse's station every hour from the office phone, I can't say. Could be both. But the question was if he had ever broken the policy and procedure, and that's where his opinion mixed with facts. He thought of himself as guilty."

"Was he?"

Sookie shakes her head, "What I got out of him is not enough to take actions against him. All I know for sure is that there was no malice or hatred in him. If anything, he's rather desperate to keep his job."

"Why didn't you continue the interview?" the head of staff asks.

"Because he wasn't in the right state of mind. No matter what or how many times I would ask, he was too agitated to think straight. I explained that to Mr. Stanton as well, Mr. Rivera, right after this part," she nods toward the screen, and I hide a smirk, hearing Sookie's snide remark; if the head of staff has indeed listened to the rest of that conversation, her question is either idiotic or is misguided intimidation tactics of some kind. It could work with any human, but not mine.

"Interesting," Felipe removes his feet off the table and shifts a little in the chair, closing his eyes. "And your recommendation?"

I can swear what Sookie is feeling at the moment is best expressed as _You've got to be kidding me. _

"Give him a few days off and then keep monitoring him," she replies. "If he's in habit of abusing company resources, he'll do it again, but this time you'll catch him with his hand in a cookie jar."

I remain silent during this exchange, letting my wife speak and take as much of my calmness as she needs. My turn to be interrogated is next, I am sure.

"Cookie jar," Felipe opens his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Stackhouse. You've been most helpful. Paul will show you out. Mark, _tù, tambien_."

Sookie leaves, with the same guard who brought us here following her and Valetti. Her uncertainty, worry, and frustration are rolling off her in waves invisible to others, but almost palpable to me. She doesn't turn back to look at me. Smart decision, as de Castro is watching the both of us.

"_Shield. Eat. Relax," _I send her way and receive a burst of love and possessiveness in response.

"Centuries ago, this woman would have been burned for mentioning Tarot cards. Her talent is remarkable, Eric," de Castro says, switching to a familiar tone, as if underlying even less formal atmosphere now that the human has left. " Very clever of you to bond her; although, I'm disappointed that the pledging ceremony was so… private. I have not witnessed one in two centuries."

Fuck. Here it goes, the questioning of our marriage. "Your Majesty, given how busy with the transitioning we all were at the time, I believed the simple ceremony to be best."

"Ah, work, always work." He leans over the table and holds his hand up, and Harold produces a pen and puts it in de Castro's waiting palm. The king signs the documents Valetti left for him, and I recognize Sookie's contract.

"You do like to skip the protocol," he says, passing one copy over to me. "The marriage law has not been accepted in Louisiana, yet you introduce your telepath as Mrs. Northman."

"The law is in its reading stages, as I have reported, and that is the reason why I have not put through the official request to change Ms. Stackhouse's names in the royal records." Out of all important issues, Felipe chooses to nag me for such trifle. Is this the kind of errors they have found in my work? "The pledging was properly performed and witnessed by your regent. I do hope that that allows for some leniency, my King," I add.

"Of course," my King smiles. "If bearing your surname gives her a stronger sense of security, of course! Such a valuable asset must be guarded very well. Please, assure your bonded my royal protection is as good in Louisiana as it is here in Nevada."

Motherfucker. First he sets Sookie up and questions her gift, then claims she's so important she needs more safeguarding than I am able to provide.

"Mark will stay with your human until you are fee to join her, Sheriff," Anàn Paleski says.

"I appreciate the attention, but is there a specific reason for the extra security here, at the palace?"

"Just a precaution, if you will," he replies. "This is still a hotel, and it is filled with visitors more than ever. Rest assured, we'll have the same security assigned to Mrs. Northman come the coronation weekend, of course, only for the time when you're not available. And we'll be happy to send a detail over to Bon Temps as well, to help you watch over her. That is where your pledged resides and is employed, correct?"

Ah, finally, we have arrived to the heart of this pile of security bull shit.

"Her family house is in Bon Temps, yes; however, she lives with me," I reply respectfully, but on the inside my anger is boiling up. "And she no longer works at the local restaurant."

Of course, this isn't about giving me piece of mind by guarding my bonded. This isn't about supporting independence and emancipation of modern women either (empty words for my kind, unless they fall in line with mainstreaming rules.) This is about proving that a vampire sheriff needing aid with caring for his human telepath who defies him, lives in another town and waitresses for a shifter, is a weak vampire and a failure as a sheriff. I am relieved to have been able to block this line of attack without much explanation. Sookie's moving in has turned to be more than a source of pleasure. She has given me the proper ammunition to affirm my standing at the court.

"Where does she work, then?" Paleski continues, his blue splashing. Irritated? Upset?

"She doesn't. I make sure she wants for nothing."

For a moment, silence ensues; perhaps, they have not been expecting this turn in the conversation. Harold's is the only field left undisturbed.

"Healthy and happy telepath is a useful telepath," Takashi finally unlocks his thin mouth. "And she does smell and look good, Your Majesty."

"Yes, better than I recall," de Castro replies, thoughtfully, but with no traces of lust or hunger.

Although I find Takashi's words insulting, I remind myself that the council will use every leverage they think they have to force me into making a mistake, including showing attachment to my wife deeper than acceptable by vampire canons. I take de Castro's remark as his admission to the fact that my woman is in good health, both physical and mental, which means there will be no more open attempts to undermine my ability to ensure her wellbeing.

After I am reminded that I am fully responsible for Sookie's adhering to the confidentiality provisions of the contract, Harold switches to business other than my personal life. My last report has been studied carefully, specifically the part regarding the drainers, and for the next half-an-hour I am kept under a cross-fire about the interrogation technique and reliability of the information extracted from the pests. Inevitably, I am asked if Sookie assisted me in any way; again, I smoothly lie about her involvement.

The formal audience is about to begin, and I am to join the king's council escorting him out into the Throne Room. Felipe's personal valet helps him put the jacket on and then carefully arranges a long, black cape, fringed with dark purple fur, around his shoulders. Two other servants bring his massive gold regalia and the crown, heavy with large rubies.

I hear a loud voice echoing in the Throne Room, announcing the king's entrance. If all goes as planned, soon, the night will come when I will be the one in the spotlight, and only the thought that my wife will be by my side, makes the prospect brighter than it really is.

SPOV

Valetti hadn't forgotten I was hungry. The restaurant for vampires and humans was open round the clock exclusively for the guests of the king, he enlightened me, adjusting his stride to my heeled pace. I suspected he had been instructed to be polite to the sheriff's bonded. I hadn't forgotten Sophie-Anne's trial in Rhodes, when Cleo Babbitt had pinched me and called me a cow (as in McSookie and not because of my size-eight figure, mind you) for blurting out those crucial words before the Ancient Pythoness. Funny, how I was known as the telepath then and now, but I hadn't been known to be bonded to Eric then. The status change seemed to have made a big difference: I doubted another vampire would dare touche me like that again. The realization would be a confidence boost, if it weren't for the feeling that being in Vegas was more dangerous than sticking my head into a hungry lion's lair.

The night seemed to be stretching longer than I'd imagined, and I was already regretting the black pointed toe Kenneth Coles. I decided to swing by the room after I'd eaten to change into something more comfortable. Too bad, Hacienda was no Merlotte's: sneakers were out of question. I'd packed a pair, just in case if I wanted to go outside during the day, but for now, I was able to resist the temptation.

I sat in a quiet corner at a small round table, covered with a white cloth, and Valetti took the other chair, facing me. A single white rose in bloom was arranged with a couple of fern fronds in a slender glass vase, and I touched the velvety petals, suddenly reminded of the rose bushes my grandmother used to prune every year. I hadn't done much gardening in the past couple of months; in the back of my mind, I added groundskeeping to the list of things I wanted to have done at the farmhouse.

The vampire wasn't going to join me for supper, thank God.

"Mark will accompany you back to the Throne Room when it is time," he said, nodding towards the were guard who looked like a Secret Service agent, only without the sunglasses and the raincoat. Oh, wait, the raincoat was the FBI. CIA?

"These," Valetti went on, putting in front of me the thin computer he'd been holding all this time, "are the files on your interview subjects tomorrow. Read the one I have opened first, then go to the desktop. I have arranged the rest there. Keep the tablet with you and return it to Bruce Stanton tomorrow."

I stared at the screen. So, Felipe had known all along I was good for it, but he'd pushed my buttons, anyway. Mine and Eric's, because my vampire's anger filled me for a moment, and then let go. A nasty thought came to me: _everything_ was a test.

There was no menu; only a list of specials imprinted in the waiter's memory like it was a Sunday morning's prayer. A plate of warm spinach salad with sautéed mushrooms and slices of tender duck breast in pomegranate sauce soothed my rumbling stomach while I went over the files.

A fruit tart with berries and cubes of mangoe and a cup of wonderful coffee had been set in front of me when I let my eyes rest for a bit. I looked around, finally noticing that I was sitting in a café – a real café that you would see in the streets of an old town: the floor paved with stones worn to a shine, pretty lamp posts, cozy tables and metal patio-style armchairs with cushy seats. A soft music was playing in the background, and the ceiling painted as a sky added to the illusion of being outdoors.

I leaned back, shutting my eyes and resting my hands on the armrests. The only thing missing was the warmth of the sun on my face. But you can't have it all, can you?

I listened to Eric; although still very tense and a bit angry, he was mostly in his usual business mood he employed when he was being the big cahoona vampire Sheriff Northman.

The evening's events flashed through my mind. I couldn't believe Victor's nerve. Sheer gal! Pirañas? Actually, I would have loved a demonstration – of him being torn by those swimming mini-predators. _That _I wouldn't miss, not in a million years, but I truly hoped we wouldn't have to wait that long, because Victor had to go, like, yesterday. What he'd tried to do to me – make me feel guilty for revealing other peoples' crimes – had worked only for a few moments. I read somewhere that in the Middle Ages, thieves had their hands or ears cut off as a punishment. Seemed like de Castro's methods hadn't made it too far down the civilization lane.

Out of all vampire sheriffs and their companions, only Eric and I had been taken to the king before the scheduled audience. He and his council had played bad vampire-good vampire, questioning my telepathy (what a pile of poo!), and I had sensed Eric coil up, but he'd been giving me so much strength I'd felt like having a dozen of energizers in my chest.

I scratched my wrist and went back to reading, stoically ignoring Mark, who had stationed himself at the table to my left. I concentrated on the text; I couldn't multitask, so I blocked everyone out, trying to remember the most important facts about tomorrow's interviewees: the names, occupation, type of contracts…

I would be bored to death if I had to do this on a regular basis, like a full-time job.

"M'am, it's time," Mark's gruff voice brought me back into the moment. Okay-dokey, then, I'd have to survive few more hours on these spikes, I thought as I gulped down the coffee. There was no check to pay, so I left a reasonable tip (one thing I know without reading minds is what reasonable tip is) and hurried down the hall, shoving the tablet into my bag. I managed not to cringe when I passed the fountain on my way to the Throne Room.

I literally tiptoed inside, because I happened to enter at the moment when Felipe was approaching his dais, the fangy council following him in a short procession. The royal colors were on display, but even if I wasn't aware of the meaning of black and purple, the proud, straight posture and importance with which the king carried himself made it obvious to everyone who was in charge here. The tips of his mustache had been thinned with precision, pointing up at the angle just one degree short of laughable and many degrees above elegant. My first impression of Felipe de Castro from back when I'd saved his royal ass, pretty much destroying my car in the process, didn't do him justice - the man could re-write the definition of handsome. Interesting how his bold and stunning appearance hadn't inspired loyal and respectful feelings when his chief of staff had been trying to bust my chops. Maybe, these days I was more susceptible to what they call the inner beauty. As it stood, there was only one man who could make my toes curl and my heart race with only one look.

The Viking's golden hair shone above the rest of the vampires, as he came out last and stood straight, unblinking gaze fixed on some distant point. I moved closer, and he locked his eyes with mine, and his glacial blue warmed up, but I was the only one to notice. My chest hummed with his love, pride, and confidence.

I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him; I let the bond communicate my wish to him instead. _Later,_ came to me, but I could swear he winked at me. Fine, he was fine.

Mark had returned to his regular duties the moment the Throne Room had been closed off, and it was a relief not to be followed around. I didn't believe for a second that my _protection _was the only reason why the were had been tailing me, but who knows with these vampires? Myabe, just like Madden, Felipe wanted to irritate the hell out of me, or even Eric.

Once the ceremony started, no one was allowed in or out. The pledging of the new sheriffs went as Valetti had described: the vampires of Louisiana, and then of Arkansas, knelt before Felipe de Castro, said the word, binding them in service to the king until their final deaths or until he released them, then received golden badges of the officers of his court. There were no applause.

For a while, I divided my attention between watching Eric going through the motions and scooping one mind after another. I found loads of jealous thoughts of men and women comparing their vampires and gloating over or loathing other humans who belonged to more prominent fangs (seriously?). There were busy broadcasts of employees and gambling urges of guests; the usual hopes of fabulous sex and expectations of being bitten; but no mentioning of Victor Madden, aside from the current images of him standing to the left from Felipe and several memories of him in bed (ewww!) Unfortunately, not a single mind in the Throne Room led me to believe that he or she was or ever had been to Victor more than what Eric and Pam called a fuck-and-feed toy. The only explanation I could come up with was that the bastard had known I'd be here and made sure there was no one for me to read. That, or he got lucky and I was missing something.

I was about to lower my shields for a massive swipe, despite my promise to Eric, when a hushed voice distracted me.

"This must be your first time at the royal reception."

"Excuse me?"

The voice belonged to a tall, slim red-head with bright green eyes, wearing emeralds in her ears and around the neck, and dressed in a deep-green silk gown. The effect was… green. I bet her panties and bra (if she had any on) were green, too. Or maybe, she was one of those silicone ladies? Did vampires approve? Gosh… Sookie, snap out of it!

"You look a little puzzled, sweetie," she smiled. "It's okay. The first time I got to be in this huge room, my knees were so week I thought I wouldn't make it past the doors on my two. I'm Brittany, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Sookie."

"These audiences are always very formal in the beginning. Once the new guys swear to the king, it's going to ease up a little."

"How so?"

"His Majesty spends a couple of hours every other night or so in here, letting the visiting vampires come before him. It's like a tradition. After that, he usually talks to his peeps, while everyone else mingles."

She didn't know it was a protocol for transiting vampires to present themselves to the local authorities and to request a permission to stay in the area if they needed to. She also didn't know that tonight Felipe had planned to publically resolve a couple of disputes between Nevada sheriffs, just to give his out-of-state underlings – the "new guys" – a taste of what they were in for.

I ran my fingers on the inside of my right forearm, lightly scratching with the blunt nails. I had somehow missed Brittany in my search, so I zoomed in on her, scooping as fast as I could. She was with a vampire named Ridley – one of the juniors in Felipe's personal retinue. The only Victor to pop up in her mind was spelled with "k" and came attached to Rolf. I had no idea what the deal was with those two, but they weren't vampires. Dam!

Brittany wasn't wasting any time either, doing her own kind of checking. She quickly assessed my dress to be a European design, my shoes this season's, and the pearls too large and perfect to be real. I withdrew from the colorful torrent that was her mind's normal broadcast before she would have gotten to my watch and ring.

"Oh, Sookie, what happened?" she suddenly grabbed my right hand and turned it palm up. She wasn't looking at the sapphire.

"You should put some ointment on this," she said, carefully touching my wrist," Or you're going to scratch your skin off!"

I yanked the sleeve of the cardigan up. Redness had spread from the wrist up my forearm to the crook of the elbow. My left was getting pinker by the second.

I hadn't noticed when the irritation first appeared, but I realized I'd been scratching for a while.

"Are you allergic to something?" the girl kept on going.

"Hmm, no, not really." I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay… No sneezing, so couldn't be lemons. Iron? But how?...

Don't panic, I scolded myself. I needed to get out of here and call Dermot. He'd know what to do.

I felt Eric's worry spike; he had probably detected my sudden agitation. A minute later he was pulling me away from Brittany and into a secluded spot in the corner of the hallway. The lady in green gave me a knowing grin, and I waved a small good-bye at her.

"You should be _there_," I whispered, nodding in the direction of the dais.

"The king is speaking to his council in private," the Viking replied calmly, but on the inside we were feeling all sorts of things.

"I need some fresh air," I said, looking around. Ridiculous, of course, because the air couldn't get any fresher or cooler than it was in this conditioned cavern.

"Let's go."

The guards opened a concealed gate made within the actual huge doors without questioning one of the sheriffs, and Eric and I slipped out, mostly unnoticed. The ladies room was on the same side as the café-restaurant. I made sure there was no one there before calling my Uncle. I pressed the phone to my ear with one shoulder and splashed cold water on my forearms. The itching wasn't going away.

"Hooligans, your pleasure is our business!" the receptionist greeted me, merrily.

"Dermot, please!"

"Is he one of the dancers?"

Was he? Hell! "I don't know. Is Claude there?"

"How's asking?" the tone became cold as ice.

"Sookie Stackhouse. It's an emergency."

"It always is, but I don't think he'll be interested..."

"Get him, blonde. Now! Or you'll be lucky to answer the phone in a homeless shelter!" Where did that come from?

"No need to yell, m'am! I'll find him for you in a minute. And there are no phones in a homeless shelter," she spat out and put me on hold.

How did I know she was blond?

Claude was on the grumpy side tonight, but I didn't care. He couldn't tell me where Dermot was, so I asked him instead; he was a full-blooded fairy, for Christ's sake!

"Try rubbing in some fresh tarragon juice. It should help in your case," he said, sounding just a tad concerned, which was a big deal for him, but when he gave me his cell phone number to call if the itching got worse, I suddenly felt a knot tightening in the pit of my stomach.

Eric was quick. He led me back to the restaurant and told the waiter I needed a glass of water and a small bunch of tarragon, to go. I was eternally grateful to Colman – if it wasn't for his blood, Eric's powers, including the glamour, wouldn't be as miraculous as they had grown to be. The waiter returned in a minute, a tall misty glass in one hand and a small white box – the kind fancy restaurants use to give a complementary dessert to go – in the other. Eric made sure he would forget there were herbs in the box, and the guy left, happy with a nice tip.

I took a sip. "How did you know they would have it?"

"Chef Lupin prefers to grow certain herbs for his exclusive use at The North See. I assumed that if this chef was half as good, he would do the same."

"Thank you," I said, biting my lip. He'd left the king's side to take care of me; if anyone had paid attention, it would be all the confirmation that Eric put me above everyone else.

"You should refresh you lipstick, dear one. You won't have a chance to do so for at least two hours, and I wish for you to look your best," he said, slipping the white carton in my bag. "And if you happen to eat here again, don't." He brushed his long fingers along the metal frame of a chair. Shit. I had overlooked the most obvious danger hiding in the plain sight. I'd been distracted, for real. I needed to pull myself together.

I didn't know how else to get the juice out of tarragon but to chew it up and then put the lump on the red blotches. _Tarragon spit, the best cure against iron-induced skin irritation. Apply topically. _The burning sensation subsided, as I kept rubbing the dakr green mass into my affected skin, praying to God the itching would go away. The scratches had almost healed; still, I pulled the three-quarter sleeves as low as the knitted material would stretch.

Eric pulled me towards the elevators.

"Downstairs," he said. "Underground level."

There were hotel services downstairs: kitchen, laundry, security center… "What did I miss?"

"The vampire gaming rooms."

Valetti had mentioned something about that when he'd been explaining V3 and V4 access zones, but I hadn't thought much about it at the time.

"It has been decided to handle the disputes there," Eric added, matter-of-factly.

"While others play?" I couldn't wrap my head around it. "Are you going to gamble, too?"

"No game will be happening until after tomorrow night."

We shared the elevator with a few other vampires, so I kept my mouth shut and my eyes fixed on the new sheriffs' badges pinned to their lapels. I call them badges, but they were more like golden pendants almost the size of my palm, replicating de Castro's royal emblem - a knight's shield with a relief of an eagle. The bird's feathers were black and purple, and it had a ruby for an eye. I stared down, studying the toes of my pumps. I was beginning to really abhor these elegant shoes. In that moment, I believed that heels had been invented by a man who hated women.

I didn't know that in less than half an hour, I wouldn't care about any of it. My shoes would be soaked with blood, and my clothes would get ruined, just like they always did when I was around vampires.

_A/N You can read up to Ch 12 on my blog (follow the link in the profile). Ch 13 is in works, and I also posted the teaser on the blog. The full chapter will be posted by the end of the next week._


	3. Ch 3: Place Your Bets, Please! Part 1

A/N DTRT Ch 13 is up on my blog.

**The following contains explicit scenes of violence and blood.  
**

**Ch 3 P 1  
**

**EPOV**

The fresh smell of tarragon effectively masks whatever traces of fear, menstrual blood and fae Sookie's body releases, for her agitation earlier has caused the surge of adrenalin, amplifying her natural scents despite my fluids in her. Thankfully, the cure her cousin suggested is helping her, soothing her skin and lifting her worry. The other vampires in the elevator hide their curiosity well, and, as I do not detect any lustful or bloodthirsty urges, I am rather relieved that all they are noticing is the aroma of an edible herb instead of that of an edible human-fairy. Their reaction turns to be an unexpectedly advantageous consequence of Sookie's incident. Although I am unsettled, even chagrined, with what has transpired, I make myself concentrate on the positive: the secret of her blood will be safe for the next few hours we are to spend underground in the company of undead.

In addition, we have learned how to prevent the skin irritation due to iron poisoning; however, once we return home, Sookie must speak to Dermot in detail about this. It is logical to assume the more pronounced fairy side of her becomes, the less effective the tarragon will prove; therefore, we need to know what other antidotes are available and be prepared in the future.

Nevertheless, I cannot completely dismiss how displeased with myself I am for not being there to protect my mate from harm. At least, I did my best to rectify the situation. The king was too busy conferring with his council and a few other vampires, Madden included, to notice my absence, thus ridding me from the need to lie about my abrupt disappearance from his side. The glamour worked on the waiter without a glitch, and, most importantly, I am certain no one has witnessed our manipulations. I have been channeling strength and confidence into the bond, and hopefully, that will be enough to get Sookie through the rest of the night without any more accidents. Her attention indeed is scattered through no fault of hers, and I must be doubly careful for the both of us.

My wife and I are vigilant in our efforts to investigate; regrettably, Sookie's self-preservation instinct, or rather its mechanics, is not yet as strong as mine. With the essential spark coming to life fully, she will need to learn fast how to constantly screen her immediate environment for harmful elements – lemon acid and iron – no matter how preoccupied her mind is. Such reactions must become a reflex and require no conscious effort, much like my habit to examine my surroundings upon rising or arriving to an unfamiliar place.

As we descend, I keep my energy globe large enough to scan the gaming level, shrinking its expanse gradually. I find only vampires present. The rest of Arkansas and Nevada sheriffs and their parties, two of them being humans, are on their way down to join us. Most of the blue fields are already familiar to me from the briefing and the oath of allegiance (I have also detected a few Maker-child connections and several basic blood bonds while in the Throne room.) Unfortunately, there has been no one tied to Madden, whose distorted patterns are an ominous mystery to me. The Ancient Pythoness warned me of his state. I have watched him as closely as I could, but so far the cause and the possible course of the further development of his darkness remain unclear. Unpredictability of his actions due to his illogical behavior increasingly bothers me. My only insurance is that he will not be so insane as to try anything outrageous here, in Nevada, at the royal court. Felipe may be politically challenged on the peripheries of his territories, but here, in the heart of his kingdom, he will not condone any insubordination or disrespect.

My energy reaches and prods the blackened field of the tortured vampire and the four smaller concentrations of indigo around him. I send a ball of darkness in the direction of the group confined in one of the farthest corners of the premises. Immediately, the patterns emerge: broken down, slow, crisscrossed with black gashes. I feel a sting upon my essence coming into a contact with those eroded spots. Silver! Of course, it is detrimental to my darkness, even if I do not touch it directly. My discovery begs the question: can the dark magic exist by itself, apart from its carrier – vampire blood?

For a moment, my ice blue recoils, and then I turn my attention to the other four. They are too small to be regular undead with mature bodies. Children? Why would anyone turn human youngsters? Moreover, the weak vampire appears to be the central figure, connecting all five with a blood tie. He is the Maker, of what? What the fuck _are_ these?

After a quick customary security check, the guard directs us to the right down the hall. Puzzled, Sookie looks around as we proceed.

"This doesn't look like a usual casino," she says quietly.

To our left, the space is separated into private areas of different sizes with currently open wide sliding doors, exposing the simple interior and minimal furniture – tables and chairs – set inside the most of them.

"I suppose it doesn't, not in a traditional, by human standards, way," I reply, bringing my energy back and dismissing every thought of the silvered vampire and his creations.

Although I do not have an extensive knowledge of vampire gambling, as I am no fan, it is obvious that there are certain types of games of luck that are suitable for slow and noisy bloogbags, but will provide no pleasurable entertainment to undead.

"I suppose no slot machines, then?" she asks, thoughtfully.

"Neither roulette tables," Valetti's calm voice is coming from behind us. "I apologize if I startled you, Mrs. Northman."

"You haven't, no worries." She is lying, of course, but her face betrays nothing. If it weren't for her slightly accelerated heartbeat, she could play poker with undead.

"My wife was wondering about the specifics of the games our kind indulges in," I say, looking at Valetti expectantly. Sookie glances at me quickly, and I nod at her, encouraging her to ask whatever she wishes to know.

Valetti understands my suggestion and increases his pace to align his stride with ours. Walking by Sookie's side, he constantly maintains a respectful yet close enough distance for our exchange to remain somewhat private. He answers her several careful questions, explaining briefly what enclosed spaces are intended for. The lieutenant is perfectly in line with the codex of the bond: he keeps out of Sookie's personal space and includes me in the conversation, inferring that by participating I allow him to continue interacting with my pledged human.

After my short audience with Felipe and his council, I see this unusually excessive but acceptable politeness toward my bonded for what it really is – an attempt to make her comfortable and assure that she is among agreeable people. This is one of de Castro's subtle tactics aimed at instilling the idea in her that she will be treated with respect and consideration at his court.

The king's most viable choices to take Sookie are to either kill me or to prove that I am incapable to provide for and safeguard her. I'm inclined to believe the first option is his last resort, which leaves the second. The marriage of a bonded couple is sacred, true, but when is it ever simple for me and Sookie? As always, our case is complicated, given that my wife is a telepath in my retinue and in service to the king, under his royal protection. Because of his title and politics involved, de Castro has certain limited rights to guard his assets, even if the asset in question is bonded to another vampire. Tonight, he has already tried unsuccessfully to corner me, using Sookie's safety as bait. He will try again, this time pressuring _her_. Perhaps, showing her that the grass is greener on his side, as humans say, is just the beginning, but how far he will go this weekend? He seems to be quite preoccupied with the preparations for the coronation and setting order in his house.

Sookie is mine, and most importantly, she accepts it and won't be lured away from me. Not out of vanity, or selfishness, but for survival, I need to nip in the bud any possibility of de Castro actively coming between us – that is, until the plans of killing Victor are finalized with the Amun council, and the takeover is set in motion.

Three weeks. That's all we need.

Our path ends with a large hall, approximately situated below the Throne room. It is an unrestricted open space, much modest in its height and width, but still a befitting stage for the king to practice his infinite wisdom on. By the northern wall, there is a miniature elevation with a massive chair for the monarch and a few more on either side from it. Clearly, he expects his minions to spend the entire time on foot. Valetti leaves through doors across the room. Recalling the three-dimensional plan, I track his movement for a few moments. Then, several others appear from above, and by the blue signatures I recognize de Castro, his council, and a few members of his entourage. So, the king has special entryway – a private elevator, most likely – that connects his chambers upstairs to every other level in the vampire wing. Smart. Following this logic, there must be an additional exit strategy, designed specifically for him.

We are still waiting for everyone to gather. Sheriff Harrison, Eve's master, rapidly passes us, nearly brushing me with his shoulder, which, in addition to his hectic patterns, speaks volumes of his disgruntled mood. He is not as tall as me, and he is lighter in weight and narrower in shoulders. The difference of a few centuries in age between us makes him an easy target, but the lack of intelligence and respect – even less than a decent and becoming one.

I am about to find out what the fuck his problem is with me, when Sookie puts her hand on my arm, worry clear in the bond. It is enough to stop me.

"Apologies, Sheriff," says Harrison's associate named Sunil: a delicately built vampire of Indian human heritage. He bows deeply to me and hurries off to his master. I moderate my menacing glare and turn my back to them, sharpening my hearing.

How gratifying it is to have these enhanced powers! Without looking back, I can distinguish a field if I have encountered it before.

"The security didn't let my man through," the sheriff is hissing to Valetti, who has returned to the room not a second ago.

"Your human does not have the clearance," comes a cold indifferent response.

"H2 wasn't good enough?"

"Only V4 and higher, the council's orders."

"Then why is _she_ here? She's human, too."

Silence.

"She has a V pass?" surprised. "What the…"

"Compose yourself. If you have a grievance, you're welcome to bring it to the king's attention immediately after the disputes are settled," Valetti's voice frosts, and he adds with nonchalant intimidation that takes years to master, "I'll make it easier for you. Just speak up, no need to file paperwork."

Harrison's patterns widen and then shrink again to hair-thin, "I have no grievance against Sheriff Northman or his human."

"You are questioning the royal council's decision, not Northman's. I suggest you be very careful before you point fingers."

"I apologize, Lieutenant. It wasn't my intention to insult…"

"If I were you, I'd know when to watch and listen, and when to open my mouth."

Finally, Harrison gets the idea across and shuts the fuck up, but Valetti's words seem meaningful to me for another reason: no humans are allowed to this meeting, except for mine. Another sign of royal trust? Hmm, if the king's justice is what I fully expect it to be, he should want Sookie as far away from its display as possible, unless he is playing the honesty card. How bad can it be psychologically? She witnessed the trials in Rhodes. She saw the drainers I interrogated. Vampire justice is not new to her. I decide not to invite any more unnecessary attention by conspicuously sending her away against the council's orders. Everyone will notice if the only heartbeat in the room is gone.

The grand formalities and the crown are dropped, but not the cape. De Castro takes his seat and beckons the two Nevada sheriffs to step forward. Valetti briefly states the main facts related to the disagreement between two vampires residing in areas governed by Sheriffs Eduardo Martinez and Razz Mick. After that, each sheriff argues his side of the case.

Quite predictably, the matter involves money and a human, and the procedure is similar to the one I adhere to during my meetings. This dispute was passed up to the higher authority, because the locals were unable to reach an amicable solution (a result of micromanaging or lack of initiative?) One of Martinez' people brought a complaint against a vampire in Razz Mick's retinue for damaging his property. The claimant demands the payment for the loaned breather's services as agreed upon and additional compensation to cover for ensuing medical bills and lost earnings he will incur while his human recuperates. De Castro decides in favor of the claimant and orders Sheriff Mick to execute the adjudication no later than tomorrow night.

"The penalty for failing to comply is the double of the settlement amount and a human to service the claimant at no charge until his own recovers fully," Valetti concludes reading the verdict.

"Razz," the king says with obvious displeasure, "If I hear about this again, your man will lose his right arm, his possessions will be confiscated, and for wasting my time you two," he looks at the other sheriff, "will spend a week in silver coffins."

"Yes, Majesty," Martinez and Mick reply in unison; they have finally found something about this dispute they both agree on.

"I am disappointed. You are setting a bad example for the new members of our crew. Dismissed."

At least, these two know better than to try and justify themselves; with a bow, they retreat behind the first line, away from Majesty's piercing eyes. Sookie stands perfectly still by my side; her emotions are relatively calm, but once the next case is announced, she winces. A rogue vampire glamoured a human prostitute to perform an act of oral sex on him in public (she sucked on his dick in a night club filled with breathers) and then use a foreign object to pleasure herself. The object happened to be another human's bottle of beer. For breaking the mainstreaming rules and causing a large-scale cleanup operation that involved massive glamouring of the witnesses, the transgressor will meet his final death. The fact that the incident took place in the area the king overseas directly is an aggravating circumstance.

With hands restrained behind his bare back, the offender is on his knees in the center of a wide semi-circle, formed by the rest of the undead.

"Red tie first," de Castro says and nods to one of the guards standing to his right, "Peter."

Peter produces a silver knife and, yanking the convicted vampire's head up from behind, slices his throat open. He shoves his hand into the cut, grabs the tongue and pulls it out, leaving it hanging. Disfigured, the offender cannot even scream, although the pain of the injury and silver is tremendous.

The reactions to the additional punishment are ambiguous: some are enjoying the show, and some are disagreeable. Sookie is disgusted, angry, and upset, and I am cross that the council has had her exposed to this. When the stake is driven through the vampire's heart and he disintegrates into ashes, she draws in a deep breath and slides her left hand into mine, squeezing hard.

The vampires involved in the dispute last on the agenda have dealt mere minutes before the case is to be introduced to the king. I wouldn't be surprised if the latter's inexorable manner of ruling motivated them to finally come to an understanding. I am relieved that this part of the night is about to end, when I notice a change in energy farther away, in the side of the underground the king came from and where the questionable essences are detained.

"At my regent's suggestion," Felipe says authoritatively, "I have decided not to wait until tomorrow and to remind you all about the sanctity of vampire blood, now. Tonight."

The group of five is moving (being transported?) toward the hall, accompanied by two other blue fields. This is wrong. I have not foreseen this turn of events. _This_ trial is not supposed to happen until Sunday night, when no humans are present. I sense a threat, but I am unable to determine the actual reason behind the feeling. Unreasonable overreaction? Irrational impulse?

A strong urge to protect my bonded overwhelms me, reminding me of the night Long Shadow attacked Sookie. Slowly, I take a step back, pulling her behind me.

At the king's sign, Eugene Harold rises from his seat to address the gathering.

"All of you have heard of the events that took place in Arkansas recently," he begins.

Someone murmurs, "Aphro-V-siac."

"Yes. Sheriff Castello of Area Three was responsible for distributing a drink containing vampire blood to humans, for financial gain. This despicable crime goes to the very foundation of our laws. Desecration of the essence will not be tolerated, under any circumstance. The punishment for such atrocity must be equally monumental."

Harold's confident voice and stern expression leave no doubt he believes every word he is saying, but a dissonance begins contorting the structure of his darkness. He may not be fully on board with whatever the decision has been made with respect to the former sheriff's fate. That is not the case with Madden, for a smirk flashes on his face too quickly for anyone to catch.

"Castello has been stripped of his rank, and his assets seized," Harold continues. "His ultimate punishment is to experience the pain that the degradation of the blood entails. You're here to witness his final moments, to learn from his mistake, and to spread the word: the king has no mercy for those who commit sacrilege."

The shadow grows larger and heavier in the bond, pressing from inside my chest. Danger! Sookie feels it, too; her heart beats faster and louder. Her hand trembles, clasped with mine, and she begins rubbing her left forearm nervously through the thin fabric of the sleeve. I should have removed her from here the moment I overheard Valetti's words, whatever the cost! What an overconfident fool have I been!

Castello is rolled in, strapped to what appears to be a box-moving dolly. His field is as weak, feeble, and damaged as I have already determined with my energy and visually matches his maimed physical condition. His bluish skin is covered with silver burns and cuts that won't heal. His eyes are open a sliver, dull and hopeless. There are deep tear wounds in the most strategic areas on his body, usually associated with… human feeds. Dead human feeds. Someone nearly drained Castello, feeding off him. What in the name of Gods has happened to this vampire?

When his four creations follow, every suspicion I have had with regards to their nature is proven completely wrong. The sight of these abominations, as if emerging from beyond the realm of the possible, sends chills down my spine, and I make an effort to stifle my horror and disbelief, but the bond has carried the signal to Sookie. She makes a strangled noise, stunned and terrified with what she is seeing and because of my own strong reaction, and it is the only noise to break the dead silence around us.

Four large Doberman pinschers are almost dragging forward a giant of a vampire who is holding them on short leashes. They are quiet and stealthy like ghosts and emanate sublime and vicious animalistic power, fueled with Castello's blood. They made him turn the dogs! Unheard of! Only a truly disturbed mind could bear such a perverse and unnatural idea for punishment. As I recall Raven's explanation of the primitive consciousness, with dread, I realize the magnitude of the abilities these… four-legged monsters have acquired: the incredible speed, perhaps, as enhanced as mine; the physical strength; the blinding bloodthirst; the drive to kill… Their base instincts most likely dominate their connection to the Maker, for he is too exhausted to control or command them. Then, what does? Silver collars are not enough to contain them – their indigo fields are so dense, the poison leaves no traces of erosion whatsoever!

I hardly register what is being said about Castello's crime at the moment, instead focusing on the dogs and the minimal, well synchronized patterns of their abnormal essence. These beasts are united with blood and think as one; they are tied to each other like nestmates, only closer.

The king knows not what he has allowed.

Sookie is fidgeting. I must get her out of here. With all my attention on the beasts, I notice too late that, absentmindedly, she has been scratching the inside of her left forearm, harder and harder. The sleeve has hitched up to her elbow, and, before I can stop her, her nails rake down, stripping off a thin band of skin. A narrow patch of flesh pinks up, and the weak but distinguishable scent of fresh blood tickles my nostrils.

Simultaneously, the beasts turn to us, and a low growl rips through their throats. Without warning, one whirls back and attacks the burly vampire. In an attempt to protect his neck, he drops the leash handles, setting the dogs free. I do not see what happens to him after that, as the other three charge.

**SPOV**

The next moment was a blur – something shoving me either against the wall or on the floor, I couldn't tell; sharp fangs tearing into my leg and ripping me into pieces, Eric's roar, and then… My shields were breached. The attack was too sudden, and the pain was too severe. I lost my control just for a blink of an eye, but that was enough. The cacophony of thoughts and firework of images exploded in my mind; hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands people were playing, crying, laughing, fucking, arguing, eating, dreaming, lying, hurting, losing, winning, losing, losing, losing… The physical suffering at the fangs of the mad dogs paled in comparison to the blazing hell in my head.

I tried to scream, but there was no air. I wanted to look, but my eyes went blind. I stretched my arm to touch Eric, but my body didn't listen. The darkness was sucking me in, and it was hot and mean.

"Sookie! SOOKIE!" A chorus sang.

A chorus?

Great. On top of everything else, I was having hallucinations, I thought and checked out.

**EPOV**

If I fall on her, I will crash her with my weight. I only have a fraction of a second to prepare for their first move: I shield her with my body and push her farther away, hard.

Everything happens extremely fast. They jump with incredible speed. The one in the middle slams into my chest, and we are falling. I grab it by the neck and manage to kick the second mongrel in the gut at the crest of its leap before we touch the floor. I squeeze my right, breaking the bones, but the creature is hardly affected, snarling and clawing at me furiously. Sookie screams in pain a few feet away from me: the third Doberman has gotten to her, sneaking between my legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that the one I kicked is scrambling to get back on its feet, and the vampires around us make no attempt to interfere, instead backing away to clear the space. Rage and fear make me fight even faster. I grab the lower jaw of my attacker and rip it out, despite his fangs piercing my hand through. The pain shocks the dog, giving me a fraction of a second to wrap my left five just above the gaping wound and twist both hands in opposite direction. The spine breaks with a snap, and I tear the head completely off.

I roll on my stomach to see my wife, lying on the floor within my reach, motionless. The other dog jumps again, this time on Sookie. I want to cover her body with mine, to protect her from the beast that is already in the air, but the third one gets in my way. It has bitten into the soft flesh of her right thigh and is lapping up the gushing blood with hungry growls. Its tail twitches with extreme delight right into my face. The sight sets me wild with fury. As I grab and break its muscular back legs, I hear de Castro shouting, "Protect the woman!" But the call comes a split second too late: the other monster is already on top of Sookie, going for her jugular. I launch up in the air and, at the last moment, catch the loose end of the leash and pull at it with a force, jerking the beast back. It slams its mouth shut, empty, inches away from her neck, and yelps, as I swing and catapult the heavy body into the wall with all my might.

While I am up in the air, battling, two guards finally come to our aid. One, armed with a wooden stake, runs up to the dog I have just thrown, and the other is trying to pull the feeding beast off Sookie, but it won't let go, instead biting deeper and shredding the tender flesh with its enormous fangs. The vampire has straddled the Doberman and has his hands locked around its thick neck; already, though, I know it is not enough to stop it.

"Back off! Now!" I bellow at the idiot, dropping down by Sookie's side. She is pale, and her pulse is weak.

I cannot use a stake, not without running a risk of hurting her even more: the dog's fangs are firmly logged in the wound, and its wiggling body is greedily spread across her legs. In a flash, I fix its lower jaw with my left and plunge the right index and middle fingers into its nostrils, deep, tearing the sensitive tissues. I yank the muzzle up, using my digits as hooks. With a growl changing into a howl, the monster still refuses to release the delicious treat. Rage, sizzling rage floods me. My essence bursts with white light, and, without thinking, I send the blast into the cool furred body underneath me. It shakes hard, then suddenly goes limp. Whatever movement his field has had completely stops.

I shove the mongrel to the side, and it is being staked instantaneously. My only concern is Sookie: she is profusely bleeding from the femoral artery. This is bad on so many levels, and I am responsible. I begin licking the deep ugly mess that looks much worse that Castello's. The skin, the muscles, the tendons, down to the bone… shreds, red, dripping shreds… entire chunks have been torn out completely, but the undead animal has not eaten, only drunk. Finally, the bleeding is slowing down. I need to…

"Northman, take her and leave," a quiet voice spells out my thought. "Everyone, back! Stand back, now!"

There is fresh blood all around: vampire, animal, and human, creating a thick, nauseating mix, but the sweetness of a fairy is unmistakable to me. In a hurry, I remove my ruined jacket and shirt off. I tightly wrap Sookie's leg with the shirt, to conceal the view and constrict the rich blood fumes it emits. There is nothing I can do about what has spilled on the carpet.

"I need a human doctor." Fuck! What do they call them… "Reconstructive surgeon." Quickly, I pick up whatever pieces of flesh I find and wrap in my handkerchief. I have very little time.

"Eugene, go with Eric. Use my elevator," de Castro commands sharply. I notice that he is standing a few feet away from us, observing my manipulations intently with his fangs half-out. "Maria, Ed, Razz, find a doctor."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Dr. Collins is twenty minutes' drive away…"

"Then run and carry him!"

I scoop her listless body and follow Harold at vampire speed. The rest silently part, letting us through. I see more gleaming fangs and sparkling eyes. The bloodlust and the excitement of the fight the kinds of which none of them have ever witnessed have stirred their own primal instincts. There will be a lot of feeding and fucking tonight; a lot of talking, too. Rumors will spread. In this moment, I vow to find a way to exact my vengeance upon each one of them for doing nothing and remaining bystanders while my pledged was being brutally attacked and I was wrestling the three devils raised from hell.

I hold my Sookie gingerly, listening to the unsteady signs of her living. The crystal on my chest feels heavier and colder than usual. Why is she not moving? She has lost a lot of blood. Enough to lose consciousness? Or did she hit her head too hard? I heard her screaming as she was bitten. The pain coming from her immediately after she collapsed, though, was too intense, as if beyond physical. If it weren't for the murderous rage I was flushed with, it would bring me down to my knees. What happened? Was there some sort of magic involved I failed to detect? Gods, let her wake up! Let her open her eyes! Let her be all right…

"Your key?" Harold asks as we reach the suite.

I left it in the pocket of my jacket, but Sookie keeps hers in the bag, which Harold was proactive enough to collect and bring with him.

I carefully arrange Sookie on top of the made bed; her pulse is still threading and weak. I take little consolation in that she feels nothing at the moment.

"The doctor will be here in a few minutes," Harold says, standing in the doorway.

I carefully brush a few sticky locks away from my lover's face. Matters not if it is my blood or hers, for it is ours.

I turn to Harold, and, for a second, we stare at each other, gauging reactions, assessing risks. Deciding. I do first.

"I need privacy."

Another second, and, with vampire speed, he moves to stand in the head of the bed. His hand disappears behind the headboard and re-appears again, his long white fingers crashing a small devise he's just pulled out. He destroys the other microphone, hidden in a floor lamp in the corner of the room, as swiftly.

"You have until tomorrow night. I'll handle the _garbage_," he shoves the broken pieces into his pocket.

Only now his ragged appearance and torn clothes register with me.

"The dog that attacked the guard turned to be quite feisty," he shrugs, catching my fleeting glance. "It was very determined to join its three brothers once it smelled fresh blood."

I nod curtly as a thank-you; I'm not in the mood to express my gratitude amply right now, but he stopped at least one of the mongrels, for whatever reasons, and I will not forget that.

Sookie groans, and I take her hand in mine. No change. I struggle, this time against the wave of panic that is threatening to crush me. Her fingers are cold, and I cover her with the comforter, folding it over her immobile form. I bite into my wrist and press it against her lips, coaxing her to open up. She is not swallowing on her own, and I have to stuff a pillow under her head so that she would not choke on my blood. For a minute, I think of nothing except for my essence trickling into her dry mouth, coating her tongue and making its path down her throat. When the wound is about to close, I bite again and continue feeding her.

"She _is_ yours," Harold suddenly says, acknowledging his presence. Why is he still here?

"Yes." I watch her chest rise and fall with each shallow breath she takes. She will be fine. She has to be. "I will rip anyone who tries to harm her in pieces."

"You already have. And not only with your hands."

I give him a leveled look. A knock on the door helps me avoid _not _replying to his statement in any way. I must think about this, later.

Harold makes himself useful by answering. He returns, my cell phone and the sheriff's golden eagle in his hands – the items I also left with the jacket.

"Your new key card," the vampire says, putting the plastic rectangle on the bedside table next to the rest of my belongings.

"I assume the meeting is over," I note, casually. In reality, the second thing I wish to know more than how soon Sookie will open her eyes is whether or not anyone has recognized the fae in my human. The thick carpet was sloshing with mixed bloods, hers least of all, but some of it could have gotten on the clothes of the observers.

"It was, almost immediately after we left. There is a lot of cleaning up to do. The gaming level must open by Sunday nightfall as planned."

Although his words are giving me hope that perhaps in the heat of the moment Sookie's heritage remained undetected, I cannot be certain. At this point, there is nothing to be done, but I will have some time before the reception rehearsal begins, to try and find out the extent of the rumors and do damage control, should the need arise.

As I finally pull away from Sookie, there comes another knock at the door. Razz Mick and Ed Martinez literally carry in a middle-aged short man, gripping him by his upper arms from either side. His feet in sleepers are dangling above the floor, and disheveled gray hair and black pajamas indicate he was asleep at this late hour, just like any other normal human being should be. His eyes behind round-rimmed glasses are clear and lucid, though, if slightly bulging. They must have run really fast.

They put him down by the bed, and instantly, he demands more light and his bag with medical tools and supplies, which Maria Rivera has brought inside, following the sheriffs.

The man checks Sookie's pulse, then lifts her eyelids and flashes her with a pencil flashlight. He snaps on thin latex gloves, while Harold tells me he will be calling upon me, soon, as de Castro will want an update report on Sookie's progress. The vampires don't linger; they leave, once the additional lightning is set and the doctor tersely demands that everyone clear the room before he removes the improvised dressing off the wound.

Through a special magnifying glass, he inspects the damage, huffing under his nose.

"It's a miracle the femoral artery is intact…"

It is now, for my saliva repaired the lethal gashes; otherwise, Sookie would have bled out in a matter of a few minutes. Silently, I curse the imbecile who tried to drag the Doberman off her, because I believe that is when the worst of the tearing occurred: the dog mauled the meat, holding on to the source of the intoxicating fluid.

"Use these," I pull the handkerchief soaked with blood and unfold the content.

The human blanches slightly, and his eyes bulge out a bit more. "What do you expect from me?" he asks briskly, without lifting his head.

"I wish for no scars."

"I don't know…"

I growl.

He gulps, finally looking up at me.

"I'll try, but she lost much more than you have here," he points at my palm. "The tearing is too extensive and lacerations too deep. She is still bleeding from the smaller vessels. And there's a possibility she may reject the mutilated tissues."

"_I'll_ make sure she will heal. _You_ make sure she has no scars."

I neither comprehend the purpose for most of the items he carries in his suitcase, nor do I care about how well he is informed on the subject of the vampire blood and its miraculous properties, but that is beside the point. Without glamour, I caution him not to be surprised by anything he is about to see. His memories I'll deal with later.

"Tell me step by step what you are going to do," I say.

First, he needs to clean the coagulated blood, and I do that, with my tongue. Then, he folds back the tiny flaps of skin – epidermis and dermis, in the human's terms – fringing the edges of the gaping wound. Next, with pincers and fingertips, he begins the reconstruction, pulling together whatever slices of the raveled muscles and sinew he can. As he meticulously and quickly progresses, millimeter by millimeter, I seal the results of his work with drops of my blood, piercing the pad of my finger each time anew. Before my eyes, the regeneration begins; new cells grow, connecting the ragged tissues, and vessels swell with her life-force. The massive hole in her leg is slowly filling up. Once the doctor mends what he can, he straightens the messy fringe of skin over the edges of the gape. He is able to match two of the torn out pieces, but most of the top layers are missing, flayed.

After he is done, I treat the wound (now roughly the size of my palm) with more blood; already, it looks not as deep and horrid, and the bone is no longer visible.

"If the regeneration continues at this rate," the doctor says, attaching a soft cloth over Sookie's leg, "the wound will completely close within six to eight hours. You'll have to wait until then to see how extensive the scarring will be."

She also has a hematoma on the back of her head, consistent with a fall, he informs me. He goes on, listing the symptoms, adding that she should be taken to a hospital if she experiences any of them.

I let him babble while he puts away his instruments. I have already given her enough blood to neutralize any consequences of the possible concussion; any headache and a feeling of pressure in the head will be indicative of her telepathy, and not of a trauma.

As I remove what is left of Sookie's dress, I am reminded of every other time I have found her unconscious or hurt otherwise. This has become a bad habit for us: her being injured or, worse, tortured, and me coming to her aid too late to prevent the harm.

Ironically, her shoes are still on, soaked through with mixed blood, and I take them off, too. I inspect the rest of the cuts and scratches, licking them clean. These will be gone in less than an hour.

Her left forearm is covered with red blotches. I check her right and find no traces of the iron poisoning.

The white box is still in Sookie's bag; there are a few leafy stems left. Stifling the natural repulsion, I put the fucking herb in my mouth and chew. I have not tasted human food in nearly nine centuries, not in any form, shape, or size. I tell myself that the green juice will only improve with a bit of my saliva, but the vile itching on my tongue and in the throat makes me cough as soon as I spit the foul mass out.

The doctor stares at me with surprise, nervously adjusting his glasses. Pam would have material to tease me for a decade!

I glamour the human into forgetting his trip to Hacienda, Sookie – his latest assignment, and me – a vampire who eats plants. He will sleep peacefully, once he is returned home, and remember nothing when he wakes up.

I command the breather to sit quietly in the living room and return to my wife. With a damp washcloth, I tend to her face and body, wiping her clean and noticing with relief her temperature returning to normal. I wrap another washcloth over the tarragon-covered forearm, remove the ruined comforter from under her and arrange her under the thin blanket.

My Droid is blinking; there is a missed call from Pam. I text her that all is fine and I shall call her in the evening.

Harold checks in with me, and I briefly inform him the _surgery_ was successful and the telepath is now resting.

"His Majesty will be delighted to learn your bonded is doing better," he nods. "Hopefully, she will be in good enough health by tomorrow noon."

Of course, de Castro expects her to conduct the fucking interviews, but I can hardly blame the royal investigator for relaying the king's will.

"It is not certain, Harold. I can assure you, if she is well enough to work, she will." Six to eight hours, that is enough for her to heal properly, but he does not need to know that. It is her mental state that worries me: she is yet to regain consciousness.

"I will relay your message to the king, Northman. He is the only one who can authorize the change in the telepath's schedule."

"With all due respect, I am concerned not only with my wife's health, but also with the quality of her work. Physical discomfort normally translates into lower success rates. She will hear less clearly."

"How less?"

For fuck's sake! "Less enough for me not to seek her aid if I were…" _in de Castro's place,_ "in need of her services."

"I see." Is he smiling? "Because she reads minds, not Tarot cards."

I am impatient to get rid of everyone. My only response is that the doctor's memories have been corrected, and two unfamiliar vampires take the man away.

"I thought you'd want to know: Castello and his only surviving bastard will meet the sun in less than three hours," Harold drops on his way out.

Alone at last, I take a vampire-quick shower. In the living room, I heat two bottles of True Blood the fridge is stocked with and gulp the synthetic crap down, then join my mate on the bed, molding myself to her body. I wait.

Pam thinks me a good husband, but it is not the amount of money I spend on Sookie's jewelry that makes me one. My bonded is so strong with spirit, yet so fragile physically, and I am constantly reminded of how attractive to my kind and other supernaturals she is. I am supposed to be her protector, yet she has been hurt again, on my watch, because I was not careful enough.

It is done, though. Logically, I know that anticipating the events of the past hour was simply impossible. I was completely surprised and caught off guard by the mere existence of those monsters. Who could have thought of such heresy incarnated in undead flesh and sacred blood? I suspect that Castello's punishment was Victor's idea, but he would not act on it without his master's approval. And it was Madden who suggested moving the trial up from Sunday night. Deliberate provocation?

It will be a great pleasure to finally put an end this twisted, sick motherfucking sack of rotten blood.

The king, on the other hand, exposed his cynical streak fully. His behavior confirmed that, if given a slightest chance to eliminate me without being directly responsible for my final death, he will take it. Moreover, he proved that, although he values Sookie greatly, she is not indispensable either. Being royally opportunistic, de Castro risked her life in hopes that the beasts would finish me off for him. Only when he thought she would certainly die and I might survive, did he order his people to protect _her_ and not help _me_. He grossly miscalculated his chances, though, for if I were no more, his guards would have been too late to save her. Did he realize that the unparalleled strength and speed of those monsters were matched only with mine?

How much of my enhanced powers have I exposed?

But most importantly, why, despite his master's obvious intention to do the opposite, did Eugene Harold decide to help me?


	4. Ch 3: Place Your Bets, Please! Part 2

_A/N thanks to all who fave'd the story and put it on alert, and especially glad to welcome those of you who followed me to my blog. There are annotations available for this chapter as well._

C 3 P 2: Place Your Bets, Please!

**SPOV**

"_Sookie… Sookie?" _

"No more singing…" I groaned.

It wasn't the chorus, though.

"_Sookie, come back to me now, my love…_"

Only Eric could speak to me like that: voicelessly, but full of meaning I understood as if it was my own mind's work.

I sighed. Oh, it felt so good to be breathing again. My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and I turned my head to look at the glow that was my husband.

I had the distinct metallic taste in my mouth. My left arm was feeling… slushy, and there was a familiar burning sensation in my right leg. It was hurting, too, but nothing I couldn't push through.

"How are you feeling?"

"Okay. What happened?"

"One of the dogs got to you. You fell and lost consciousness. Do you remember that?"

"Not really," I frowned.

"Do you remember anything at all?" he asked, with worry. "Are you confused? Dizzy? Nauseous?" he was getting more concerned with each word. "And why would I be singing? Are you having ringing in your ears?"

He sounded like he was reading an excerpt from a medical glossary, and I knew exactly what he was describing. I'd been in scuffles before, mind you. I'd done my homework on concussions and some more.

I moved my extremities, wiggled my toes and stretched my muscles. With the exception of my right thigh and a quickly dispersing fog in my head, I was fine.

"Eric, I'm okay, really." Then the last few seconds before the lights had gone out came rushing over me: the feel of danger condensing in the bond, his horror and disbelief when he saw the dogs, my own paralyzing fear, the pain, the voices, Eric's wild roar…"Are _you_?" I jumped up straight and yanked the quilt down to make sure he was all right. My trembling fingers didn't find anything but cool, smooth skin. I closed my eyes, sighing with relief. "Thank God."

"We can speak freely, Sookie. Eugene Harold destroyed both microphones."

Two bugs in each suite, three cameras and three bugs in villas, my memory helpfully supplied.

"Why would he do that?"

"I asked him. Do not think of it now," he said, cupping my cheek. His love and possessiveness, mingled with anger and remorse, came to me in vibes, and a tiny dose of shame told me he was blaming himself for what had happened to me. I turned my head to kiss the inside of his palm.

"You saved my life," I said firmly, putting all my heart into those words. "_That_ I remember."

"How is your leg?"

Simultaneously, we glanced down. A large piece of medical gauze was hiding whatever damage I had sustained. I felt like my thigh was the size of a football field, and the whole field was itching like hell. Inwardly, I cringed. How bad was it?

He gingerly ran his fingertips over the sides of the dressing. I noticed how pristine and dry it was; no blood had soaked through. I got hopeful, but… he had covered it in the first place for a reason.

"It's healing. I'll be like new when I wake up." I said. I decided I didn't want to see. I could live without yet another image of myself, mangled.

He nodded, "Six to eight hours."

When I got staked in Jackson, it had taken less than two. And that had been a nasty wound.

I gave myself an A for going with my gut feeling and not looking at my thigh. With all the blood I had recently ingested, six to eight hours meant more than gauged and poked flesh.

"Thank you for the blood," I said.

The Viking just shook his head, as if refusing to accept my gratitude, which stung me a bit. His blood was a gift, bond and marriage an'all aside, and he'd given it freely to me. Now that I had a better understanding of the supernatural world, I could appreciate how generous and wonderful that gift really was.

"Perhaps, we could take _this _off, then," he said, pointing at a washcloth loosely wrapped around my forearm. The source of the slushy sensation turned out to be the tarragon, ground into a paste.

"Are they dead?" I asked, watching his agile fingers at work.

Eric removed the washcloth, folded it and began wiping my skin with the clean side. "Three of them, yes. Castello and the forth one will meet the sun today."

He kept his eyes on his task while giving me the gist of the fight. It had lasted no more than ten-twelve seconds, give or take a few. I had only one word: impossible. Eric had to use all his physical power to kill the dog that had attacked him first and his darkness to finish off the one that had dined on my right filet-minion. He stopped the third one literally an inch away from it ending me, and no one would help.

"What were they waiting for? For you to die? For me?"

He turned away to throw the washcloth on the nightstand. "We are in Las Vegas, Sookie," he said. "Almost everyone gambles here, including the king."

My mouth went dry as the sudden realization hit me: Felipe had gambled with my life, and the stakes had been the Viking's undeath. Whatever neutral feelings I had toward him, were just reborn into anger, hate, and surprise. I don't know how I was still able to be surprised, though. Maybe, it was the extreme fashion of the fight and the sheer speed with which Eric, de Castro, and those dogs had moved and made decisions. And that those monsters were capable of making intelligent logical decisions, Eric didn't have to spend much time convincing me in.

"The first thing they did was to take the guard out," he explained. "One dog sacrificed itself to set the other three free. They advanced at me simultaneously. Two created a diversion to let the last one slip through past me to you, but when it bit you, the strategy stalled. Its every other instinct was overridden, and I think the rest of them felt the bloodlust through their bond. That, combined with the fumes of the fresh blood, blinded them. Broke the coordination. All they wanted was to feed. They were animals, after all."

"I can only imagine how strong their sense of smell became after they had been turned." I was frantically putting bits and pieces together in my mind, and even though the time line was simply crazy, I couldn't figure out _why_. "My scent and pulse were to those dogs practically like a red flag to a bull, but why didn't they attack right away, as soon as they entered the room? Something had to have set them off."

Eric took my left hand again, turned it up and gently rubbed the clear skin. "I noticed too late to stop you," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

I groaned. Brittany had said it: I'd finally scratched deep enough to draw blood. If it weren't for me…

With an effort, I locked my misplaced guilt away. No regrets. We'd been here before: my problems are his problems, his enemies are mine, yada-yada, end of story. Moving on.

"Isn't it against the rules to turn animals?"

"Not exactly," Eric, too, switched his mood from 'sorry' to 'thoughtful'. "There is no law explicitly forbidding the act, because no one has ever attempted. At least, I've never heard of such thing."

"You think our number one suspect is responsible?"

Eric lied back, staring into the ceiling, and clasped his hands under his head. "The blood tie that those animals shared was too intense. My only explanation is that Castello was forced to create a bond with them first, and then turn them."

I gasped. They had made him exchange blood with dogs. Ohmygod…

"The process would require time," he went on, "So it had to have been initiated while he was still in Victor's custody in Arkansas. If Madden came up with the idea, de Castro had to either approve it beforehand, or accept it after the fact."

I didn't even want to think how painful and humiliating the process must have been for the former sheriff. If Victor was capable of doing something so despicable to one of his own, what would he do to a human?

"Lover," Eric's voice pulled me back from the dark musings. "What happened after you fell?"

I lied next to him and rested my head on his chest. He wrapped an arm around me, and then I was in my favorite place in the whole world. He touched the top of my head with his lips, as I gathered my wits.

"I'm not sure. It's still a bit hazy. All my barriers were blown away by the pain. I remember hearing everyone, and then there was this strange singing, but it could be just my imagination. I've never had so many people in my head at once." I paused, mulling over the chaotic impressions and images that were slowly resurfacing in my head. "There's something I can't put my finger on. Maybe, if I sleep on it, it'll come to me."

His hand was soothingly stroking my shoulder.

"Are you listening now?"

"No." Come to think of it, my shields had already been up when I heard Eric's voice. My usual mornings in Bon Temps hardly ever required bracing mental shields before brushing my teeth, so blocking thoughts before rising and shining was out of ordinary for me.

"I won't have you go through with the interviews if it hurts you," he said, tensing under my cheek.

The interviews, gosh…

I tilted my head up to see his jaw set into that stern line I knew so well. I sneaked a telepathic peek into the world around me. Yep, same ol' same ol'. People hadn't changed in the slightest since the last time I'd checked.

"I'll be fine."

"Headache?"

"Advil."

His eyes bored into mine, and the protective _mine_ flared up in the bond. "I am entitled to refuse your services. I will use my right if there is a chance that reading those humans will do you any harm."

I couldn't stifle a huge yawn. "Eric, I just need to sleep it off."

He gave me a long dark look, and there was so much brewing inside him, from volatile anger to doubt, I felt at a loss. Typical vampire Eric.

"Look, I already know whom I'll be talking to and what I need to find out." I snuggled back into him and closed my eyes. "Valetti gave me the files. I can handle it."

"If you feel you can't, don't push yourself. I'll deal with de Castro," he murmured into my hair.

I yawned again. I had dozens of questions to ask, like who had dressed my wound so neatly, and if anyone had smelled the fairy in me, or why Eugine Harold was so nice to Eric, but I just couldn't think straight at this point. This trip to Nevada was really getting to me. Here I was, battered and knocked out again, stripped down to my underwear, and my nice dress ruined. The story of my life. At least, Eric being in bed with me wasn't a moral dilemma anymore, although, I sort of expected Bubba to pop his head into a window (good thing, there were no windows in this room) and ask something insanely embarrassing.

"Sorry about your shirt," I mumbled.

His chest rumbled with silent laugh. "Don't mention," he finally replied. "But next time I'd rather you ruin it for pleasure."

The room reeked of blood, overpowering my vampire's heady scent, but that we were able to retain some sense of humor on a night like this was definitely a good sign.

Another good sign was that my thigh wasn't hurting when I woke up in the morning. In the bathroom, I put my foot up on the bathtub edge and carefully peeled the gauze off, exposing pinkish, taut, a bit swollen new skin. My imagination began producing detailed scenarios that could possibly match what I was seeing.

Mutilation seemed like a pretty accurate word. If it weren't for the strange borders of the wound, I'd think someone had just carved a pound or two out of me, cutting into the back of my leg quite generously. The fangs had pierced me through, then, maybe even touched the bone, judging by the placement of the patch. The memory of being ripped into pieces washed over me, and I winced, but kept looking.

The edges were weird and messy, as if the old skin was somehow meshed with the new one, creating a couple of tanned peninsulas in the sea of pink. I would have a strange scar, a nice addition to my growing collection. By all means, this one would win the grand prix among the rest of them.

I turned the water in the shower and stood under the stream, letting my hair soak for a minute.

It is a confusing yet simple in its roots feeling: when you lose a piece of yourself, it's personal, even intimate. Every time someone took a piece of me against my will, it was more than just flesh. It was _me. _A particle of my soul, my peace, my happiness. I could regrow meat, fat, and skin, but how does one regrow soul? Is that even possible? I'd been abused in every way, and the emotional scars had been as deep and ugly, but it was the visible marks that would serve as a constant reminder of what I'd been through every time I looked at myself.

I'd learned to deal with my past, getting my confidence back, with Eric's help. I no longer felt incomplete, or handicap. Inadequate. Less of a person. An edited version of myself. My abusers lost their powers of me, and most of them were dead, but they replaced specks of me with _them_. Every new wound my body and soul received was just that much worse, because it brought to life the ghosts of the past, and it didn't really matter anymore how large the new scar would be.

I dried my hair with a towel and rubbed some mousse I found on the shelf into it, to make the curls more pronounced and crisp. I thoroughly did my makeup, picked the nicest bra and panties out of what I'd packed and put my wide black pants and silk blouse on. I ordered room service – blueberry pancakes with natural honey instead of maple syrup, and double coffee, black.

De Castro lost last night, and so did Victor, but that would hardly stop either one. The king wasn't aware of his regent's active plotting against him, but in their wish to get rid of Eric they were on the same page. Could Felipe have Victor running around like loose cannon in hopes he would kill the Viking? Then he would kill Madden in turn as a punishment and be done with both.

I picked my bag from the coffee table and checked if I was missing anything. I returned to the bedroom to look for the tablet Valetti had given me and instead found the dried source of the thick blood scent: the comforter and Eric's shirt on the floor by the bed. The shirt used to be white and intact. Now it was a red rigid rag, folded and twisted. His pants were ruined, too, and even his blue boxers were stained.

Another downside of being savagely attacked was that there was always a mess to clean up, and I just hated that part. Seriously, how fair was that?

I piled the bloody rags, his and mine, in the corner of the bathroom by the living room door. The stained quilt followed. As I was carrying the things, something fell and rolled on the tiled floor, and, automatically, I picked it up. What was I supposed to do with one reddish pearl?

When a young girl pushed in the cart with my late breakfast, I asked her if the hotel had a special (a.k.a. vampire-oriented) service for situations like this and showed her the stack. She wasn't shocked.

"We'll replace the bedding, m'am, and take care of the rest," she gave me an undisturbed smile that kind of shocked _me. _I went into her head. Something came over me, and I didn't care about the ethics and privacy issues. I needed to understand why she was smiling like that, and the low buzz gave away the trademark method of personnel training at Hacienda: glamour.

"A collector will take everything and burn them," she was saying. "He will confirm with you the list of the things before he destroys them. I can call him for you."

"If you don't mind, please." I'd like to have my breakfast without the pile of bloodstained trash sitting a few feet away from me.

"Of course," she replied. Her polite smile wasn't diminishing. Maybe, it wasn't so bad that she was calm, after all. Vampires didn't care for any signs of emotions from the _help_, and I found I preferred to be disconcerted with the glamoured reactions than pretend I didn't see her pity, or envy, or disgust, or… Whatever.

I didn't sit down until she was done speaking to her day supervisor.

"The collector is on his way, m'am."

The collector, Lev Something-ovich, showed up a few minutes later, discreetly collected everything and as discreetly left. I was finally able to enjoy my food while it was still warm, but after the first bite I picked up my cell phone and sent a text to Valery, telling her that her blueberry pancakes were the best.

I was on my second cup of coffee, when Andy delivered a fruit basket and a large bouquet with fragrant white lilies.

"Where would you like this?" he asked, holding up a long garment bag.

White lilies meant innocence and purity. How sweet!

They also symbolized majesty and wealth. I didn't need to guess who the flowers were from, but read the short note in the black and purple envelope anyway, out of curiosity.

"_Mrs. Northman, _

_Please accept this as a token of my appreciation for your loyal service."_

Signed by Felipe de Castro, the king of Nevada etc., etc., etc.

"S_orry for nearly killing you, will try again soon" _wouldn't be as majestic, of course, but at least it would be honest – something I'd ceased expecting from the Nevada bunch.

Andy laid the garment bag on the sofa, and I studiously avoided noticing the brown with gold plastic until Bruce Stanton arrived at ten to noon, just like yesterday, to escort me up to the sixth floor.

I offered him some fresh joe and went to check on Eric before I left him alone, again. For a moment, I was tempted to tell Bruce I wasn't feeling well and let the Viking deal with Felipe, but that could put him in hot water and destroy any advantage we might have gained so far. As it was, Eric had every reason to claim that no one could protect me better than him, not even the royal guard at the palace, under the king's very nose. If I were to sabotage the important meetings following the fight fiasco, Felipe would find a way to turn my actions against his sheriff, and Eric would lose the edge.

I kissed my man, inhaling his slightly spicy scent that calmed me like a balm. My lipstick marked his mouth, and I didn't wipe it off.

"I hope you dream of me, my angel," I whispered into his ear, "as I dream of you."

Sitting in that dark room, on the side of the bed next to my vampire, I let my mind relax, finding refuge in the big black nothingness that was humming soothingly, like a clear brook on a bright sunny day. I didn't want to wake him, so I kept my emotions at bay, only thinking of the calmness and strength he'd been giving me for hours.

Carefully, I lowered the universal shields and intensified the gambling blocks. The chaos began streaming in, and I coiled up inside, expecting the dreaded pressure in my temples. It didn't come. I concentrated on the nearest source of brainwaves and scooped. In retrospect, I saw Bruce working until late, and then going over to his girlfriend's house. Pork ribs, mashed potatoes, green salad. Bottle of wine. Warm and fuzzies. _Honey, have you seen my tie? _An e-mail from Valetti. My face, paler than yesterday. He had no clue.

I put a tiny cross over his mind, silencing his thoughts, and scooped one of the security guards in the hallway. The shift was about to change in seven minutes: precisely at noon. There was some personal gibberish I didn't care about, some work-related information, and gossip. The were knew from his buddy Jerry in the maintenance about a massive cleanup down below, where breathers weren't allowed. Jerry had told him there were pools of blood and they had to repaint the walls and replace the brand new carpet in the central hall. The were was speculating about who got killed. No association with me or Eric.

Seemed as if the vampires had kept the brawl under wraps.

I made sure the bathroom door was properly locked, and when I left the bedroom, I wasn't without a plan. The headache hadn't returned yet, but I was determined to tread carefully.

"I was able to change the order of the interviews," Bruce said in the elevator. "Not exactly what we talked about last night, but the last two hours should be easy."

"Thank you, Mr. Stanton. By the way, I was supposed to have a tablet for you, from Mr. Valetti, but it got lost."

"Don't worry about that. He sent me an e-mail last night."

"That's very thoughtful."

Bruce shot me a puzzled look, but didn't comment further.

"So, have you checked out the city yet? Played?"

"You could say so."

"How d' you like it so far?"

"The city? Well, it's very… bright."

"Oh, yes. With so many places opened 24/7, there are lights everywhere."

The social side of Bruce's personality was making itself known, and I wasn't sure I was up to par, but I tried.

"I'd like to get some souvenirs to take back home," I said tentatively. Actually, Sam would love something he could put in his office or hang on the wall in the diner. "Is there any place you could recommend?"

"Caesar's Palace. You'll find every major brand there. And it's just one of those must-see places. Have you heard of the Perfect Caesar's Palace Sky?"

"No," I animated my face with a genuine interest. "What is it?"

"The ceilings imitate blue skies with clouds, and they gradually change from light to dark, matching the time of day or night. Some call them artificial skies. The Caesar's Palace is a recreation of a Roman city. There are talking statues of Gods, a waterfall…"

Roman city. Another reminder of Appius. I wouldn't want to refresh _that_ in Eric's memory.

"… shop on Las Vegas Boulevard carries very unique items."

Bruce's mouth was moving, but I'd lost a chunk of what he was saying. "That sounds great," I readily smiled. "Thank you."

Internally, I kicked myself for drifting away into the personal. I let Bruce start the computer and prepare for the first interview as soon as we entered the conference room. My body poured some water and quietly sat down. My mind wandered off to the third floor. It was noon, the time when the security shift was changing. I found the eavesdropping guard and listened for a minute, finding nothing troublesome. His partner was also broadcasting "all clear". I closed my eyes and concentrated again on both of them, highlighting their thoughts. I'd experimented before with filters, so I tried something more elaborate this time. I imagined Eric and me and sort of applied those images to the guards' transmissions, setting an alarm in case if their thoughts matched any of those images. I wasn't sure if my idea would work, but it was worth a shot.

Then, came the hard part. I wanted to be able to see through their eyes: everything that was happening in that hallway, I wanted to know. If they thought something looked, smelled, or sounded suspicious, I wanted to know.

I'd never tried monitoring anyone like this before, but that was the best plan I could come up with. The weres (I nicknamed them Chip and Dale for convenience) were highly trained professionals. They weren't there to harm Eric (that I'd confirmed right away). They were there to provide efficient security, and I was trying to "bug" them, telepathically, instead of roaming with my mind all over the hotel. Plus, I had to use my gift carefully so as not to trigger the massive headaches again.

And, last but not least, I had interviews to run.

I did, for three hours. By then I was already tired, but thankfully, plan A was working, and Advil was still plan B. I'd "watched" the cleaning ladies making their daytime rounds and the third guard showing up to relieve Dale and then Chip for their lunch breaks. Chip had thought of me and Eric once, when our suite was being cleaned. I had also counted three travel coffins carried farther down the hall; these had to be the newly arrived representatives of other monarchs.

I was grateful that Bruce had shuffled the schedule to lighten the last couple of hours, because that's when the multitasking became increasingly challenging. Chip'n'Dale were getting bored and tired, too. Their focus loosened. The pictures and thoughts I was receiving from them changed from professional and neat to personal and colorful. They started chatting as they passed each other in the hallway, and it was freaky to see both sides of the conversation in my head at the same time. Really freaky and confusing, but not as confusing as when I'd gone into the woods after the mimic dear. This time, the live projection of two minds came to me in separate streams, and I knew exactly which "channel" belonged to whom.

At some point, I overheard a little more about the _cleanup_, but there were no names or specifics. The guards didn't know for a fact if someone had died that night down below (they referred to the gaming level as "dungeon", go figure), but Covacec (another guard?) had found a pile of silver chains on the roof this morning.

We were finally done by six. I was exhausted; my head felt like a huge empty dome where Chip and Dale were creating echo with their mental babble, and the information I'd garnered in the course of the interviews was floating around, disorienting me.

Bruce had officially warmed up to me. "It's been an unbelievable experience working with you, Mrs. Northman," he said as we shook hands.

"For me, as well," I replied. I wished him the best and finally locked the door, leaning against it with my back. The room was filled with the sweet aroma of the lilies, and the garment bag had been hung on the hook on the bathroom door.

I had tons of important things to think about, and I was absolutely unable to. I was mentally drained. Eric was still asleep, the traces of my kiss on his perfect cool lips. I let myself bathe in his healing presence for a minute, blocking everyone out again.

Something had happened to me last night when the pain swept my shields away. The odd processes that had started in my mind the morning we arrived to Hacienda were the same wheels that I'd felt turning, pulling, breaking something, and then the voices had come, calling to me, like Tara's twins, only louder.

A knock on the door interrupted my revelations. Damn!

I flung the door open, "Yes?"

"Mrs. Northman, hello! I am Anya, and this is Galina. She'll be doing your hair and makeup, and I'll be doing your manicure and pedicure for the evening."

"I didn't schedule hair and makeup."

"Oh," Galina, a young woman with short black hair, beamed at me (for Christ's sake, would they cut it out with the glamour, already?!), "We've been sent by the management. The courtesy of the hotel."

I sighed. If Felipe failed to kill me with his gambling, he was going to smother me with his perverse kindness.

"Come on in."

The girls were either Russian or Ukrainian, or something of the sorts, and I couldn't make heads or tails of their thoughts. Galina carried in a folding table, and together with taller, younger, and darker Anya they began quickly setting their station in the living room.

I was having a very busy weekend.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower," I said.

"That's fine, Mrs. Northman. We'll have everything ready for you."

The day had been so intense I had forgotten about the itch in my thigh. Hurriedly, I undressed and ran my hand up and down my leg.

I felt nothing. No ragged edges, no roughness, no tightness. Nothing but gentle, smooth skin. I looked and looked, not believing my eyes, and tears brimmed over and landed on my leg.

There would be no scars. The large pale patch appeared white like vampire's skin against the rest of me, tanned to deep gold, and the discoloration was the only indication there had ever been anything wrong with that part of me. _A natural beauty_, Pam's words resounded in my mind as if she was standing next to me_, all it takes is my Master's blood to show it in its best. The only thing vampire blood cannot do for you is the tan._

I had an hour before my husband would rise. In less than ten minutes, I was squeaky clean, seated in the armchair. Anya was working on my nails, and Galina was brushing my wet hair, complimenting me on its health and shine. I asked her to trim the edges an inch and closed my eyes, still overwhelmed.

"What color would you like?" Anya asked. She tucked her hair behind her ears and pulled a box with nail polish of different shades.

"I'd like clear, please."

She gaped at me for a tiny second, wrinkling her small freckled nose, "Clear as in French or?…"

"Clear clear."

"Okay."

Eric found me in the bathroom, as I was sliding into black panties and a strapless bra.

"Lover," he rumbled, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. We stood in front of a tall mirror, looking at each other's reflections. His hand slid down and cupped the soft bun of my healed thigh, and I turned my leg outward a little to let him get a good feel of it.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He kissed my neck, long and gentle caress.

"You're beautiful, my wife."

I bit my lower lip; I had my eyes made, and tears would ruin Galina's work.

"Eric, could you get me the jewelry box?" I asked, sniffling.

His eyebrow quirked, but he went to the bedroom to pull the box from the carry-on in a jiffy, and I returned to the living room. I unzipped the garment bag for the first time and didn't get surprised.

Felipe was predictable in certain aspects. Boring, too.

I removed a purple evening gown from the hanger and put it on. Eric came into the room, the small travel jewelry box in his hands, and took in the flowers, the fruit basket, and the dress with one swift disapproving glance. He didn't like any of it, and neither did I, but we were in no position to decline the signs of royal attention. De Castro was responsible for ruining my clothes, so he'd sent a replacement. I wasn't grateful. I was pissed at his gesture, because it wasn't "I apologize" but "I am taking care of this."

I had a perfect outfit for tonight's rehearsal: the blue one. I was going to wear it with a new triple-diamond pendant, diamond studs in my ears, and the sapphire ring. Tasteful, simple and now completely unacceptable, unless Eric and I intended to insult the king by refusing his overbearing favor.

I might be wearing Felipe's color, but if the symbolism still meant anything at this court, then there would be no question with whom I belonged.

I opened the box Eric still had in his hands and pulled out the platinum chain I'd gotten for him when I'd had the clasps on his necklace switched from silver to platinum. I'd kept it in the pouch and brought it to Vegas in case if Eric needed to wear it instead of the leather cord. It was long and thick, with links large enough to convey the idea.

I wrapped the chain around my neck, twice, and locked the clasp.

"Sookie," he was following my every move, astonished. "I would not ask this of you."

"You're not." I rearranged the chain so that the clasp would be on the nape of my neck. If you run with the wolves, you will learn how to howl. "Are you ready?"


	5. Ch 4: In the Eye of the Beholder Part 1

A/N I've decided to keep chapters here on ff net shorter, b/c before I post here, I edit as well, so it's easier to edit in pieces (lazy, I know... but you're not mad at me, right?)

A_n audio file is embedded into the text; click to play with default Audio Player on your computer, or a new browser window will open to play from URL. Minimize and continue enjoying the story._

**Artwork: Beautiful Oblivion by AkuBaka**

**SPOV**

The Throne room looked different tonight, but even a great number of undead and breathing bodies was unable to fill it, rather reminding of a live carpet of ants, bustling and crawling about amidst the low forest of tables and chairs set in preparation for the rehearsal. We entered the brightly lit space and were swiftly directed to our place. Felipe wasn't on his throne, so paying due respect and expressing how moved and grateful I was for his royal attention would have to wait until later. Of course, I couldn't really tell him that his gesture moved me the wrong way, as in against the grain, to instill warm appreciation, and I'd rather he found a stake and fell on it. It also didn't make my mood any better that the purple dress drew extra attention as Eric and I made it to our spot. I gritted my teeth and brushed off envious glares and sidelong glances, not letting myself notice any of that. Hell with'em all.

Mr. Ernst Bauer, a tall, middle-aged Were, introduced himself as the head event coordinator and quickly highlighted the main points of the ceremony and the following reception, both of which would be held two weeks from tonight in the Throne room. The entertainment was a big part of the program, yet none of the performers were present. Mr. Bauer (who, by the way, had a full head of thick brown hair and wasn't with E(E)E) explained that, since the artists were professionals experienced with formal supernatural events, they would do their part so long as everyone else did theirs. His two assistants' task was to instruct the outsiders and Felipe's minions – a fancy crowd that had already been separated into two lots per clan and/or state. I felt like an extra on a set of some epic movie being filmed. I supposed the coordinators were trying to achieve a kind of mirrored synchronism: who to remain where, when to move or sit, and how fast to proceed. A perverse sense of perfection, if you ask me.

The Area Five party of four was assigned a spot to the right from the wide isle, immediately behind the first row designated for the kings and queens of Amun. The left side was reserved for Narayana and Nevada people. Once the rehearsal began, Felipe and his spooky council came in and sat at a long conference table by the dais, facing the room. After we'd gone through the first round of the drill, Eric and the rest of the sheriffs were called over to the king, and I stood alone by our table, shifting from one foot to the other, turned and half-curtsied when required with the rest of the mixed herd. A couple of repetitions later, I trusted my body to do the work and busied my mind by listening on humans who had arrived with the representatives of other monarchs. I went easy on myself and read no more than two at a time, first scooping and then streaming the broadcasts live, like I'd done with Chip'n'Dale. I followed the brainwaves accompanying their void higher-ups, as each vampire emissary approached the king for a short conversation while the rehearsal was in progress. Very soon, I established that they were verifying their masters' placement, the vantage points, how much security would be provided, and in general diligently making sure that their majesties would find the accommodations up to the highest standards and adjusted to each one's specific tastes, preferences, and habits. I also became aware that Ohio and Iowa were still a couple, so they would occupy the same villa, but the Queen of Minnesota had broken up with the King of Wisconsin. In other news: California liked consenting couples for breakfast, well, first meal of the night, I should say, and Arizona wanted to sit as far away from Amun as possible.

A large area at the front of the Throne room had been left uncluttered, and here Mr. Bauer had all area leaders learn their own set of steps. The only explanation I could think of was that, since sheriffs were an important part of de Castro's retinue, they would formally represent the court during the ceremony. When they were dismissed, Eric stayed by the king's side. From my angle, I could see them examining some papers spread on the top of the table and every once in a while turning to a laptop set in front of Anàn Paleski, the head of security and maintenance.

The general prep was interrupted twice when Felipe decided to make a few changes to the succession of the events. I heard a few muffled huffs and puffs, and I couldn't agree more. What an arrogant asshole! Not only was he using his people as Guiney pigs to evaluate the readiness of the hotel, he was also having us go through the workout to assess what his coronation would actually look like; hence, the mandatory formal outfits. Maybe, he was being wise, but I was leaning toward narcissistic. He finally had Mr. Bauer wrap up the drag and disappeared into his private office, with Eric and the council trailing after him. At first, I sensed the Viking's chagrin and a hint of anger, and then he switched to business mode. I already knew that personally detaching from whatever irritated or unsettled him was his way of coping with his own stress.

"Those who drink blood, please follow Mr. Dickson. We'll reconvene in an hour," the head coordinator announced, interrupting my train of thoughts.

The vampires didn't need to be told twice. They left as if being swept away by a deadly wind, and the rest of us, insignificant mortals, remained.

"We'll be having a food tasting, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Bauer said. "You will be served a sample menu for each dinner course. You will also be given grading cards to rate each meal on the scale from one to five, one being the worst, five being the best."

The two assistants asked everyone to gather around the tables so that there were no vacant seats left. The numbers didn't add up, and I was beginning to hope that I'd be able to sit without any company and hunt for some Victor-related thoughts. Tough luck.

"Hey, Sookie! May I join you?" Brittany, the lady in green, was waving at me, approaching at a dangerous speed, given the height of her spikes. Tonight she had favored rich maroon, and the effect was startling and a bit disturbing. Her hair was up in a complicated construction, and the clacking of her heels was as loud as Mr. Bauer's baritone.

"Oh, it's so good to see you! How're you feeling? No more itching? I was thinking about you last night, after you left with that gorgeous vampire of yours," she unloaded before she sat down. "How did you manage to get yourself a specimen like that? And a sheriff, too!"

"I'm fine, Brittany," I flashed my all-purpose smile at her and let the rest slide. "How are you?"

"Oh, swell! I'm so excited about this whole coronation thing! This is going to be cooler than Princess Di's wedding."

She was gushing with enthusiasm, but I failed to see the thrill of having a huge bunch of not-so-friendly vampires in the same place at the same time. "How so?"

"It's been over a century since so many royalties came together under one roof. A little birdy told me."

"A century? Some old birdy that must have been."

She looked around to make sure no one could hear us. With no vampires in the Throne room, she decided it was safe. "Ridley."

She hardly knew me. Was she naïve or stupid, breaking her vampire's confidence? She could get into a whole heap of trouble.

"It's nice of him to have told you that," I whispered back at her and tuned in. "He must really trust you."

"He hardly ever speaks about any of the vampire stuff with me. You know darn well how tight-lipped they are, but…" She leaned over the table, still whispering, and her eyes glowed. "Right after he told me about the coronation, he asked me if I'd like to move with him to another city or even state. It was so unlike him."

This was getting interesting. Relocating meant changes, and they were definitely coming, but was there more to it than my imagination? Was I connecting dots that didn't necessarily need to be connected?

"That sounds promising," I said, suddenly figuring out her urge to open up to me. She was happy and had no one to share her news with. In her mind, I was just like her, tangled with vampires; I should understand her. I did, better than she thought.

"I know! I said 'yes', of course. I've been with Ridley for almost eight years, since I was fifteen."

"Fifteen?" I cringed internally. So young…

"Yeah, fifteen going on thirty five," she sniggered. "I was on my own since thirteen. I used to do modeling in New York and Europe. We met in Prague when I was doing a special photoshoot for 'Elle'. He didn't pop my cherry, if you know what I mean; although, he was my first vampire. I'd done my share of craziness back in the day: partying, drinking… But it all stopped after Ridley." …_keepthelowprofile… _"I knew what he was, even though they hadn't come out of the coffins back then."

"And you quit your job and moved here?"

"Not right away, no. I worked until my nineteenth birthday, and then there was the Great Revelation. That's when Ridley officially made me his."

As far as I could tell from the images she flooded me with for a moment, he was kind to her. She was his arm candy, and she loved it. He took care of the bite marks, so she had no scars. He paid the bills with no questions asked, and she was grateful for easy living. He didn't pass her around, and she knew vampires who did that to their humans. She had come to believe she had some measure of safety and stability with Ridley, because he had given her his blood and had explained the etiquette thoroughly to her. He'd trained her very well, and she knew everything there was to know about being a good human and abide by the rules. She _wanted _to. How much of herself had she given up in all those years?

Brittany smiled again and sized up my jewelry. "What about you? Does he let you work?"

I bit my tongue. _Does Eric _let_ me work? _Hell!

I stretched the corners of my lips into a polite grin. "I don't really have time to work right now," and it was true, what, between spying on gazillion people and trying not to die in the process and all. "What does your sweetheart do?" I asked in a casual tone, to turn the conversation back to her.

"Office job, I think. All I know is that he's one of His Majesty's men who liaise between Nevada and the new guys," she replied, shrugging. I perked my mental ears, but the low buzz of glamour distorted the girl's thoughts.

A waiter brought the first samples and the grading cards, and Brittany got completely sidetracked.

"My God, I always wanted to do food judging, like on 'The Top Chef'!" she exclaimed. "The girl who used to host that show was a model, too. I did a few photoshoots with her."

I had to admit I hadn't seen that show. I poked at the appetizers, liked the stuffed mushrooms and stared at a row of Chinese soup spoons, some filled with thick mixtures, and some with clear stock and chopped herbs floating on the surface.

"You know, if I were asked to move, I'd think ahead," I said, reading through the ballot card. Each dish had its ingredients listed, and I was searching for one in particular. "What are the odds of you ending up some place where the climate is nothing like here? Who knows?" I shrugged. "And last minute shopping is always such a hassle."

The maroon lady put her fork down, "I didn't think about that." _…ask him tonight.._.

A diva like her certainly would. If I could get a read on her tomorrow before leaving, I might find out more about Ridley's plans, and for her to bring up the whole subject because of the clothes wouldn't seem uncharacteristic. It could be nothing, but my gut was telling me to follow through.

I probed a bit further. "So, when is this big promotion coming? Will you have time to pick a special outfit to celebrate?"

"Oh, I don't know. I don't even know if it's a promotion or what. He didn't say. Try this one, it's lobster bisque."

"You can have mine. I'm not a big fan of seafood." Geez Louise, how did fairies survive in this world? Not every meal came with a card reading "lemon-free, enjoy!" I'd have to ask Dermot…

"But someone is a big fan of _you_," Brittany coyly said, picking up the spoon with a small serving of warm-orange creamy mixture from my plate. Her thoughts changed the shade to purple, literally.

"How do you mean?"

"Your dress, Sookie!" _…envyenvyenvy…_

"Ah, well, that's not a big deal."

…_favors?blood?sex?…_

I should have been ready for this. After all, it had been my intention to provoke this kind of thoughts by displaying the double chain wrapped around my neck. Property of a vampire. One in particular, of course, but property, nevertheless. The redhead knew the meaning of the code; her own chain was gold and thinner than mine, but she had another massive one as a bracelet on her left wrist and the third one on her ankle, and she was happy to sport these signs of Ridley's ownership over her. My hand flew up to my throat. Instead of finding the heavy encore of the Sunset, my fingertips touched the naked metal of the chain.

I couldn't really hate Brittany for throwing nosy and somewhat jealous mental darts in me, but I had to acknowledge that my nerves were strained more than I wanted to believe. I was overreacting.

"Eric doesn't share," I said, a bit indignantly, re-arranging my poker face.

"Oh," she glanced at my moving hand. "You know what, scratch that. You don't need to tell me." She looked away, now sincerely abashed. "It's just that this is your first time at the palace, and in my three years here, I've hardly ever seen a human wearing His Majesty's colors."

I needed her to be comfortable around me. She didn't know about my gift, and I wasn't going to advertise it, as well as that I was, in fact, married to a vampire who, by and large, outranked her Ridley.

"Don't worry about it," I said, softer. "I work for the king every now and then; that's all."

She still wasn't getting it. I decided to stick to the official version.

"I consult his Human Resources Department, on and off." Clean and simple. Saving Felipe's ass from a delirious vampire or reading the minds of his employees and business partners wasn't going to sit well with Brittany.

"Then you must be really good at it," she noted, diverting her attention back to the mini-servings.

_You have no idea, girlfriend._ "They say I have a knack for it."

I filled the ballot card while the waiter cleared the table and served the next set of samples. One of the people I interviewed today was a vice president of "Palladio", the top catering company in Las Vegas. All the dishes offered for the tasting came from that company and its two largest competitors: "First Catering and Bakery" and "Ramona's". I'd gotten the impression that the royal event committee (that's what the VP of "Palladio" had thought of a group of vampires in charge) hadn't selected the lowest bid solely because of the figures; they wanted to make sure the food was good, too. "Palladio" had pulled their finest staff and resources for this final test, because they saw this as a gateway for future business.

"I'm glad we met, Sookie," Brittany said. The awkward moment was now behind us. "How about a real lunch tomorrow? No tiny bite-sized teasers."

"Sure," I smiled, recovering my mojo.

I silenced her mind with a small cross and continued listening, this time focusing on the locals. I tried the entrées and gave the highest score to roasted quale with truffles, asparagus in orange sauce, and red velvet cake. I chatted with the girl. I kept probing the bond, gauging Eric's reaction after a burst of anger had thrummed through our blood tie, once.

I was multitasking, but I was careful not to overdo it. Ever since we'd set foot in Vegas, the limits of my telepathy had been tested in every way, and the last night's attack only escalated my condition; I wasn't yet sure exactly how, though. I only hoped that the incident with the Dobermans was the lowest point of the weekend and nothing else _monumental _was going to happen. I was tired, and all I wanted was go home in one piece, still sane, with my man by my side.

Apparently, it was too much to ask. Just as I finished with the rating, Valetti graced us with his presence and told me the king wanted to see me. He gave Brittany a cold look when she chirped we'd catch up later.

Eric wasn't at ease. Something had angered him earlier, and now he was getting conflicted all over again, but whether it had to do with me, I couldn't determine.

I curtsied and said all the right words, thanking the king for his kindness. Felipe had his council around him again. Eugene Harold had pulled a chair to the right from his master, and Victor was standing behind him, with the security guards, motionless and quiet. Something wasn't right with the pecking order.

They all, however, acted as if nothing had happened: the vamped-up dogs hadn't attacked one of their own (supposedly), my life hadn't hung by a thread, and they hadn't just stood and watched without moving a finger to help either me or Eric.

I perched on the edge of the couch by the Viking's side, across from Felipe. I kept my back straight. There was no way the modest token of Eric's claim around my neck had gone unnoticed, but the indifferent faces around me were blank to my eye, just like their voids were silent to my mind. Only Maria Rivera kept tapping her fingers on the wooden armrest of the sofa. The leopard print of her tight dress vividly reminded me I was in a jungle, but these weren't just predatory bloodsuckers; they were true life-suckers.

The reason why I had been summoned wasn't Felipe's wish to ensure I was in good health.

"What have you heard tonight?" Eugene Harold began without preamble. Eric tensed.

"I've heard plenty, mostly about food."

Takashi wrinkled his nose.

"Skip the information we are gathering without your help and proceed to our human guests," Harold briskly said.

After Eric had told me how the Chief investigator had helped him with the dogs and then with the mics, I'd harbored a hope we had at least one vampire on our side. Wrong. Could be why Eric was getting so pissed off by the second.

My report was short and left the council dissatisfied.

"We've been expecting more from you," Anàn Paleski said, noticeably irked.

The Viking cut him off. "Your expectations are not part of my wife's contract."

"She was briefed. She knew the importance of using her skill," Paleski objected.

"Her _gift_ is not to be abused to screen a mob 24/7."

When did they get off, talking about me as if I wasn't even in the room?

"Eric," Felipe held his hand up. "Let's not cross the lines. Indeed, this is very little information, and we already know most of it."

"It may be little, your Majesty, but it is accurate," Eric respectfully inclined his head, while his tone remained sharp. "And after the last night's _meeting_, followed by a full day of intense interviews with dozens of humans, Sookie has still brought in valid intelligence."

"Then we have different opinions of what 'valid' constitutes," Eugene quipped.

Victor was gloating.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Harold, is it so hard to believe that my presence here for the weekend was anticipated by other monarchs? It wouldn't surprise me if they made sure to send only those humans who don't know anything important."

"It is obvious," Victor piped in with a 'catch up, Sookie' condescending smirk on his face. He just had to put his two cents in. "But that shouldn't have stopped you from properly..."

Oh, for Christ's sake, give me a break!

"Enough," Felipe abruptly interrupted Victor, without so much as looking at his regent who took a step back and tried to blend with the wall. "Eric has made a point. All things considered, I find the telepath has done a good job."

This one-eighty came out of nowhere, but enough is enough, even in Felipe's book. He released Eric and me, and we were almost by the door, when he added, "In one hour, come down to the gaming rooms. We shall play."

Suddenly, the walls were closing up on me, and there was not enough air to fill my lungs. Pressure built and spread down the center of my chest, making it even harder to breathe.

Eric gripped my elbow. "Your Majesty, if you don't mind, I promised Sookie to show her the city." _Breathe. Breathe. I'm here. _

As if through cotton, I heard Felipe's muffled voice, "You may have the rest of the night off."

Somehow, we made it out of the office which was becoming suffocating, and Eric quickly led me through the long hallway out of the Throne room.

"Breathe. You're not going down there," he said quietly, as we waited for the elevator.

My hands were now shaking, and my fingers went numb.

When I finally reeled into our room, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes. My lips felt weird, sort of like being pricked by thousands tiny needles. Eric put his hands on either side of my face and gently rubbed my cheeks with his cool thumbs. I didn't want to be a wreck, but stinging tears brimmed over, and I couldn't hold them back even if my life depended on it. Five minutes. Five minutes. Five minutes… I just had to wait this out.

Eric scooped me up and brought into the bedroom. He carefully put me on the top of the bed and removed my shoes.

"What can I do, lover?"

My throat was so tight and dry no sound would come out of it.

In a flash, he appeared with a glass of water. He helped me up, and I slowly drank. As I finished the tall glass, my heart wasn't pounding in my ears anymore and the room stopped spinning.

"Take this fucking dress off me," I said, raspy, not caring if the new mics had been already installed.

We both were relieved when he did. He removed the chain and lowered his head to slowly kiss my neck. As God is my witness, sexy was the last thing I felt, but Eric's lips weren't lustful at all, rather grateful – for what?

He pulled away to look at me, and I loosened his band to let his hair free. I patted the spot next to me on the bed, and he dropped his shoes on the floor and climbed up.

"You should sleep," he murmured, after a while. "You are exhausted."

"I'm fine. I do want to see the city," I turned to my side to nuzzle into him and took deep breaths, calming down. He smelled so good…

"Rest first. We'll go later." _I have business to take care of. Please, stay here._

I sat up and frowned at him. "No."

"Sookie…"

"I won't be able to sleep."

_It may be dangerous._

I raised an eyebrow at him. Really, the argument that was supposed to convince me to stay behind was _dangerous?_

He ran his hand through his mane, still hesitating._ I need to get out, _I mouthed to him. If I stayed here alone, I'd end up having another anxiety attack.

"Get dressed, then. We have a lot of sightseeing to do."

I got off the bed, a bit queasy, but I had to keep going. In the bathroom, I quickly removed the smudges of makeup which Galina had very generously applied and scrubbed my face clean. When I pulled my Diesels and a plain cotton tee-shirt on, they greeted me like a pair of good old friends and comfortably hugged me. It's quite unnerving how simple things like clothes can affect a person when the very act of choosing is taken away from him or her. All this dress code, the rule of black and purple, the chains, the exposed veins… Those were tools of control, no less manipulative and binding than a basic bond. What a striking difference between what Eric had done for me and what Felipe had forced onto me. While one cared and let me – wanted me to – be myself, the other strove for power and didn't give a shit about how I felt. Every minute I spent around Nevada vampires made me appreciate my independence and my husband even more. Yes, committed relationships are a two-way street, but it is also so much more than a simple give-and-take equation. We might have been playing everyone around us, but we both knew who we really were, and it was enough for now.

Eric was in the living room. He'd already changed into the only pair of jeans I'd packed for him and now was talking to Pam on the cell phone in his ancient language. I tied my Nikes, while he measured the room in long strides. I didn't have time to undo my hair, so I let Galina's efforts last for a few more hours.

"We are going out," he said to Pam, looking at me.

I grabbed my bag.

"… Yes, she is as beautiful as ever... I will." With that, he stuffed the phone into his back pocket.

The streets weren't overflowing with people at this hour, but I kept my shields up. Two young girls were crossing from Bellagio to Hacienda, swinging on high heels and laughing like loons. Eric and I passed by them as they safely made it to the walkway and stumbled forth towards the arched passages. The smell of booze coming off them could knock ten Jane Bodehouses over.

"Is everything okay back home?" I asked.

"Yes. Pam was just checking in with me." Eric hailed a cab and opened the door for me. "I told her what happened. She wanted me to tell you that purple isn't your color."

Got to love Pam: she always had the perfect punchline.

"What's in Rhodes Ranch?" I asked once he gave the driver the address.

"Hopefully, a trail that will lead to Heidi's son. I agreed to look into his unexplained silence."

Heidi had told me her tale and how she had left her human son in Vegas when she'd been ordered to move to Shreveport. He was Heidi's masters' leverage over her, and she was still very young for a vampire to dismiss the motherly instinct to protect her child.

"How come she came to you? It should be in her bosses' interest to look after him."

Eric sat back and closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to restore his inner balance. The residual tension was slowly leaving him.

"I suppose they have better things to do these days than to follow a drug-addict human."

"Well, she trusts you." I was recollecting my conversation with the tracker. "And she loves her son. She wouldn't use him as a pawn against you."

"I believe so. But I can only help if the local crew isn't involved."

"And you were planning to 'take care' of this business without my help?" I tapped a finger on my temple.

"Haven't you had enough for the weekend?" Eric looked at me with a mix of pride and anger. Pride – for me. Anger – not in the least.

I laced my fingers through his. Absently, he ran his thumb across my palm. The path from my palm to my nether region was still there, tingling, despite the long and nerve-racking two days and nights.

We spent the rest of the drive in silence, or at least that's what the cabbie thought as he kept glancing at us in the rear view mirror. I ignored him and let myself relax into the bond. It felt like bathing in a warm sunlight – pretty amazing, considering the dead guy who was making me feel this way hadn't seen the sun in millennium.

The taxi brought us into a quiet middle-class neighborhood. Fresh and clean, it was a new construction, almost entirely up for sale. While Eric paid the fair, I stood in front of a beautiful light-brown house – the only one on the block with lights on in the wide windows. The front yard was fenced, and there were swings set and toys scattered on the green lawn.

"Whose place is this?" I asked, once Eric let the driver go.

"His dealers'." From how serious he got, I understood he was listening around and testing the air.

I did my own check-up. "There's only a woman and a sleeping child inside."

I spotted a mailbox on top of a brick column by the driveway. Luckily, the mail hadn't been collected yet. Yep, Molly and Josh Morgan.

She was watching TV.

"What's the plan?" I whispered to Eric.

"I open the door, you go inside and invite me in."

"Can we avoid breaking and entering?" I rolled my eyes. There was a child in the house, and, on top of everything else, I didn't want to scare the little guy. "Let's call it plan B. We're going with plan A."

I ran up the steps to the door and knocked. Her first thought was that their perfect suburban cover-up had been blown, and her sweet Teddy would go into foster care. Well, shit, I wasn't an expert on the dangers of drug dealing, but Molly was, judging by a gun in her pocket. Except for she hadn't accounted for a telepath and a very old vampire.

"Who is it?" the woman was on high alert, and her voice was tight and low.

"Oh, hi! Sorry to bother you so late," I said, cheerfully. "I'm Susan, your new neighbor from down the street."

Molly peeked through the peephole.

"The third house to the right. Red door, black roof?" I added.

"I didn't know it's been sold."

"We've just gotten the keys today. We're moving in next weekend."

"What can I do for you?" _Whadiyouwant…_

"Well, the land line hasn't been connected yet, and I really need to get ahold of my husband. Do you mind if I use your phone?"

"Don't you have a cell phone?" she asked, still suspicious, but she also didn't want to appear rude if I were who I claimed to be. Who wants an enemy for a neighbor?

"I do," I smiled, a kind of embarrassed and uncertain smile. "But I left it in the car, and Ken – my hubs – took it, the car, I mean, to go to Seven Eleven, so…" I could almost physically sense how her fingers relaxed their grip on the weapon handle. Time for the final push. "You know, that's fine." I waved my hand in front of me as if coming to her door was a bad idea. "Don't worry about it. Sorry to bother. I'll see you around."

The moment I turned my back on the door, Molly opened it. "Susan, wait a second!"

Eric was already in front of her, whispering to her to be quiet, and I hurried inside to invite him in.

"She's armed," I said.

"Give me the gun," he hissed at the woman, suddenly fuming.

She did, with the barrel pointed downrange, and he handed it to me.

"Molly, it's all right," I said. "No one's gonna hurt you. We just need to find Max."

She gulped. "I don't know any Max."

Eric took a menacing step closer to her, and she shrunk into a scared ball. She was thinner and an inch or two taller than me, but I found myself looking down into her terrified hazel eyes through the bangs of short brown hair.

The Viking grabbed her by the lapels of the thick pink bathrobe. "Wrong. Try again."

I thoroughly scooped her. "She knows him, but not where he is. We need Josh. Something's up with him and Max." I put my hand on the woman's shoulder, "Molly, where's Josh now?"

She just shook her head. The paleness in her face was vivid, and not only because she had no makeup on.

"When is he coming back?"

"I don't know!"

"Calm down," Eric said. He kept speaking to her in an unexpectedly friendly manner. "You will phone him. Tell him the child is not well and you need him to return home."

The TV in the living room was still working. I turned the volume down while she dialed.

The call was short; I could hear Josh on the other end, telling her to wait for him and not to call 911 if the kid took a turn to worse. There was a small stash in the house. Huh.

"He'll be here in half-an-hour," Molly said, hanging up.

Eric decided he didn't need her anymore and let her go be with Teddy. I was still in her head, as the skillful glamour removed the memories of her strange visitors and left no distortions in her thoughts that immediately tinted with drowsiness and love for her son. I followed her upstairs to make sure she was all right. When the image of a sleeping dark-haired boy replaced everything else, I let Molly have her privacy and blocked her out.

I put the Taurus pistol on a glass coffee table and sat next to Eric on a wide leather couch. Stake-outs aren't my favorite pass time, but at least no one could hear us in here. I had a lot on my mind, and I'm ashamed to say that Max wasn't the person I was worried about most.

"You knew she had a gun," Eric said, with a mild rebuke, but there was bitterness in him. "Why do you always have to put yourself in danger?"

Not the safety talk again… "Let's not go there, okay? She wasn't going to shoot, trust me. Besides, you put yourself on the line for me all the time."

"A bullet is nothing for me, Sookie." His long fingers were relaxed, but the frustration in him was building up again.

"Yeah, I know," I tried to lighten up the atmosphere. "You're just looking for a chance to make me suck another one out of your chest. I'm not falling for that again."

Eric let a small smile perk up the corner of his mouth. "Does that mean you've learned from your mistake?"

"Not to trust old manipulative vampires? What do _you_ think?"

"I think you're very brave, my lover." His eyes pierced me, and he looked like he wanted to say more, but held it all back. Goodie, because I had a feeling I wasn't going to like a bit of it.

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?" I asked, softly. "Why did Felipe single you out during the rehearsal?"

"Politics, lover," he replied, reluctantly.

I gave him a moment, a chance to talk to me without me dragging words out of his mouth.

He didn't disappoint.

According to Eric, Felipe was going to have a stage built, so that everyone in the Throne Room would be able to see the actual ceremony. He had the Viking go over the floor plans to finalize the entry points onto the stage and the following steps. He'd also decided that, since Eric had a proper license, he'd be the one performing the rite, after all.

"But you were supposed to be the backup guy," I said, disconcerted.

"He changed his mind," Eric said, wearily.

I used to think of the coronation as a pretentious show, but I couldn't help but wonder if Felipe was deriving some kind of twisted pleasure from having Eric lay the crown on his head. It was very symbolic – the last standing sheriff from the old regime handing him the reins over the fallen territories.

"De Castro's unofficial order is to never mention the attack on you, only Castello's punishment in part," Eric went on. "He is extremely dissatisfied with how the dispute settlements concluded last night and blames Madden for convincing him to have the trial ahead of the schedule."

"That was kinda childish, making Victor stand with the guard," I said. "Not that I'm complaining Felipe is openly mad at him – finally – but nobody forced his hand."

"And being the highest authority, he has the luxury of making his regent a scapegoat. De Castro values his reputation more than he cares about Victor's pride. He must keep what happened a secret."

"Because that would prove the royal protection is an illusion or because what they did to those dogs and Castello is outrageous?"

"Both."

I shook my head in disbelief. That egotistical son of the bitch…

"On the other hand, there will be fewer rumors concerning the sweetness of your blood," Eric noted.

Wasn't that the silver lining.

"Sooner or later, the cat will be out the bag. People know, Eric. Humans, other supes… I don't expect they will be silent forever."

"Neither do I, but I'd rather it happens when I'm in a better position to protect you."

I sighed. "Well, it's a discussion for another place and another time. Tell me the rest. What got you so angered?"

As it turned out, Felipe hadn't stopped at hushing up the fight. Later, behind the closed doors, he had used Eric to push Victor's buttons. He had brought up the whole media leak shenanigan of Alexei killing two men and how great the Viking had handled the situation, spinning the newspaper article to make vampires look noble and humans hypocritical.

"He admonished Madden for being unable to successfully investigate the incident and find the parties responsible for the leak in the first place. De Castro has not a slightest idea of Madden's treachery, but I don't believe he is unaware of his regent's animosity towards me. What he did tonight magnified that attitude tenfold."

That had to have been one very painful slap in Victor's face, especially when the king had taken Eric's side and deemed that I'd done a "good job."

"Have you thought of the possibility that he's playing you _and _Madden? Victor is out of hands, but Felipe can't really do anything about it without admitting that he let his subordinate call the shots. Maybe, now he's trying to salvage the situation by goading you into killing each other. If you kill Victor or vice versa, he'll punish the other by final death. He'll be clean, and you'll be gone."

Eric gave me a long, dark look. "Very plausible."

God, I hate vampire bull shit…No matter how I looked at it, there were always enemies. I only hoped they didn't join their forces in yet another complicated political move.

"What about Harold? He was very… moody."

Eric's eyebrows drew closer. "Too many unknown factors. He nearly accused me of wearing a ruby without authorization."

"The only ruby you have is the one Felipe gave you," I stared at him, perplexed.

"He was referring to my necklace, lover. He paid extra attention when he came up to our room. You see, in everyone's eyes, your blood doesn't have the glow it does in mine."

I swallowed hard. Of course, Eric's clothes had been torn, and the crystal had been exposed!

Thankfully, the incident had blown over without consequences. Felipe had already been frustrated enough to order his Chief investigator to shut it and had mildly scolded the sheriff for breaking the etiquette rules.

"First, Harold helps you, and then _this_? Petty and pathetic. Did he get into hot water with Felipe for destroying the mics?

"For that or for intervening into the fight. Eugene isn't our friend. From everything I have heard of him, he is loyal to the king. He is extremely intelligent, and petty and pathetic are not the adjectives one uses with respect to him."

"He could be aligned with Victor. Explains why he didn't report about Madden's plotting."

Eric shook his head in negative. "But it doesn't explain why he stopped the forth monster _before_ the order to protect you was given. It was a chance to have me killed, and Harold intervened – the opposite to what both Victor and the king wished." He was silent for a minute, intently thinking.

I was, too. Two and two didn't make four.

"Well, one thing is for sure," I finally said. "Whatever his motives, he needs you alive."

"For now, yes."

"Then he must have his own interests. Everyone else wants you dead, like, yesterday."

Eric rose and began slowly pacing around the cozy living room. A few times, he stopped to look at photos on the mantle and picked up a few magazines off a glass coffee table.

"Hmm. For the most of my undeath I've enjoyed a good book." He dropped the glossy stack back on the table and turned to face me. "Harold insisted on sending another vampire into my area." His voice became acerbic. "The king agreed."

Another spy? "Who?"

"Someone from the royal office who is familiar with Louisiana and Arkansas affairs."

A mechanical sound of a garage door opening cut my next thought short.


	6. Ch 4: In the Eye of the Beholder Part 2

****The original chapter contains an embedded soundtrack.

**EPOV**

Artwork: Burnin Rage by RuslanKadiev

Although I believe Sookie should have stopped the moment she learned about the weapon, a strangers' house is not a suitable place for such a discussion, especially considering the time restraints we are under and our primary goal for being here to begin with.

I bring her up to speed. I am growing impatient, wishing to finish this business with the tracker's son. Sookie needs to rest, and I must think, alone, for the bond is extremely intense and erratic, and managing my side in addition to Sookie's torrent of emotions and physical discomfort requires constantly increasing concentration. I hear a car approach and wait for the sound of a door being opened. Before the man sets a foot on the cemented floor of the garage, I have him by his throat. His gut looks as if he has swollen a small barrel, and his dark, gelled-up hair adds an inch to what the heels of his cowboy boots contribute to his insignificant height. He smells of alcohol and sweet perfume, and the collar of his blue shirt is smudged with bright red lipstick.

The sudden stop of his heart and then the loud thud of it bashing against his rib cage irritate me to no end. I bare my fangs and order him to be quiet. Sookie has come rushing after me and now is standing by the car, watching intently.

"I will ask once," I say very calmly. "Where. Is. Max." I slightly readjust my grip, pressing my thumb into the slippery, oily skin.

"Okay, okay! He's… he's not too far…" he coughs out.

"It's a cabin, about fifteen miles away from here," Sookie says.

"What is his business with you?" I ask.

"We're… working together."

"He's watching over a large stash for Josh," Sookie comments.

Only a defective cretin leaves an addict in charge of the very source of his weakness.

I ask him if Max is in trouble with vampires, and Sookie carefully listens and asks another question of her own.

"As far as I can tell, either Max hasn't told him, or the locals have nothing to do with his current whereabouts," she finally says.

"I… I can call him… have him drive up here," stutters the cretin.

"No," I cut him off. If he tells Max to leave the drugs unattended and come over, he may think something is wrong and run. I am in no mood for chasing after him a second longer than necessary. It is highly unlikely that this illegal enterprise is connected to my kind, for vampires do not get involved with human drugs: it is too pesky and unpleasant of a business."You'll take us there." I decide. I slowly release my hold, and the sack of bones and fat sinks on the floor in a pile of gasps.

"Please… please, no cops… You can have it. All of it. I swear…"

What would I do with the fucking drug, except for shoving it up his pitiful ass? "Get up. You are driving."

Sookie hurries back inside to take care of the details: turn the lights and the TV off, set the alarm, and lock the doors as if we were never there. The human will remember nothing when she awakes, and there will be not a smallest thing to make her leery.

I use a touch of glamour to ensure Josh will not attempt to escape or sabotage our little trip in any other way, and, recalling the drainer's interrogation, add a soothing air to his thoughts. He will not be as ruffled and disordered, thus making it easier for Sookie to read him.

"Okay, we're good." She catches up her breath, sliding on the backseat of the white Mercedes C-300. "What are you planning to do with Max?"

Nothing complicated, I tell her. Now that I am almost hundred percent positive that the Nevada vampires have had nothing do to with the human's disappearance, I'll have him return home, contact his mother, and the rest is between her and her masters.

"How's that going to help Heidi?"

"He will stay out of trouble. That is all I can do for now." My standing with the king has become dangerously dubious since the dog fight; the human isn't worth jeopardizing the delicate balance of powers established between me and the court.

Sookie puts a hand on the man's shoulder and asks him a few questions.

"Well, I hope your plan works," Sookie finally says, drily, "'cause Mister Cosa Nostra here decided to expand and make him his pusher… seller," she clarifies as I glance back at her, questioningly. "Josh had Max graduate from cocaine to meth and gives him that shit at cost as part of a deal, which – what a surprise! – Max couldn't refuse. He's totally hooked and cooked."

On occasion, I have overheard vermin at Fangtasia drunkenly comparing their impressions of the ecstatic effect induced by these and other substances to the pleasure of being bitten and fucked by a vampire. The bliss of meth lasts for several hours, of cocaine only an hour or so, and both result in chemical imbalance (whereas, in my opinion, vampires constitute a completely different kind of addiction with a much higher mortality rate among human _users._)

Hmm. Hooked and cooked. I have already decided that Max's problem must be duly addressed, for that will alleviate some of Heidi's troubles and allow her to function properly, which is also directly in my interest. Now, my plan needs to be slightly adapted, given that Max is in much worse condition than anticipated. Sookie points out a possibility I have not considered.

"Check with Heidi first, she may know," she suggests, with determination.

I call Pam and have her contact the tracker, and in less than two minutes I have the information I need.

In about fifteen miles, we drive off the highway and into nowhere, following some invisible path Josh has memorized. The small house is located literally out in the desert. I order the breather to park in his usual spot so as not to startle the man inside.

Entering is simple: Josh goes first and invites me in. Re-wiring Max isn't so much, for he is presently under influence. His addled brain does not exhibit the reaction to glamour that a clean, not narcotized one normally does, but it does not require the sophisticated approach Jimmy the V addict's half-dead gray cells did, either. I convince Max the drugs are lethal for him and create a massive block of panic and pain that will be activated every time he will have the urge to use.

"You want to live, but if you touch this poison again, you will die," I whisper to him, and he shudders, frightened. Good. He is able to experience genuine terror in his dazed, happy state, which is a proof that I have ventured deep enough into his mind to instill the impenetrable obstacle for the rest of his life.

Sookie has already called the Rehabilitation Center in Long Beach Heidi found during her extensive research months ago in an attempt to get Max clean, to no avail. They will be expecting him in the morning, my bonded tells me, coming inside the filthy room.

Indeed, as she wisely noted, the glamour will force him to stop consuming meth, but no power of suggestion is enough to reverse the physical damage within minutes. His body must readjust over time in a controlled environment. More importantly, it is a very smart idea strategically to send him to a place where he will be isolated "voluntarily" for a while, away from drugs and vampire politics. Surely, if they decide to snatch him, they can, but in order to do so borders with the neighboring kingdom will have to be crossed, which is too much of an inconvenience.

"She could give him some blood," Sookie says, hesitantly, as Max walks out, wobbly, and gets into the passenger seat of the Mercedes.

I find no family resemblance in his features to Heidi, except for unnaturally pale skin, but while hers is the result of undeath, his is an evidence of sick health. The degenerating habit has also turned his blue eyes into senseless pools, his black hair into a shaggy mess and his limbs into thin and weak appendages. He has not bathed for days, and the stale malodor is revolting. I briefly consider putting him inside the trunk, but I doubt my wife will approve.

"No blood. His system is crippled, and the reaction may be unpredictable to the point of death. He must heal the human way."

"What about the rest?"

"This one?" I point to the shorty as he is puffing around the shack, stuffing Max's clothes and other personal belongings into a rucksack to remove the traces of his ever being inside this deteriorating house. "He'll remember nothing." I intend to have him drive all of us to Las Vegas, and from there we shall part our ways. Sookie and I will return to Hacienda well before sunrise, and Max will take a taxi to California and check himself in. Heidi will handle her son's accommodations from there.

"No, Eric, I mean _this_," Sookie gestures around the room. "We let Josh keep dealing?"

I give her a flat look. Although, I know her vigilance in upholding human laws whenever breathers are involved, I wish to avoid creating more ripples in the local pond than necessary. Ido what is best for us, and… "This human is not my concern," I only say. I have already broken vampire regulations, including the subordination mandate and the cardinal rule of mainstreaming not to change a human's life drastically without his explicit consent. Max hardly gave me one.

"He's making Molly sell to soccer moms," Sookie's voice is getting harsher. "He's playing with his son's future, even life! Someone's got to stop him before he ruins the whole family."

What is she saying? "Then we shall call the police. Is that not your principle – to let the human law handle this type of situations?"

"They can't get involved," Sookie replies, unsettled, but I do not understand why she is reluctant to accept my solution. "He's an asshole who cheats on his wife and cares about money more than his child. I'm not asking you to fix him. To make him a faithful husband and a loving father. I just want that kid to have a chance for a normal life and family. He deserves one, even if Josh doesn't."

I am silent for a moment, surprised, but that is what she is – a source of constant surprises.

"If you think it's too much, I'll understand," she adds, and I sense bitter sadness in her, tinted with regret.

"Why?"

"I told you…"

"Why not ask me to fix him?"

"Why do you avoid glamouring your human underlings?"

"Not the same."

"It is. Because it's a lie. Love and loyalty by glamour or magic are a lie, and you know it."

"She is already living a lie, Sookie. _His _lie."

"Well, then I won't replace _his _lie with _mine_," she shakes her head. "That would make me no better than Felipe and his bunch. Just… make Josh quit dealing for the sake of his family. The rest is up to them."

I can see the line she has drawn for herself, but no matter how she chooses to look at it, she will profoundly affect the lives of three people. Would she call her own request high-handed? She has had the advantage of screening these humans' innermost thoughts, but the fact is that it is _her _decision, not theirs. She is in position to make it, but does she have the right to do so – perhaps, this is the moral issue she is struggling with.

Every authority figure faces this particular demon sooner or later. The only difference is how each one exorcises that demon. I have no doubt that a great natural grasp of honor and responsibility will always lead Sookie in the right direction. She is in no danger of being corrupted by having more power and using it.

Is she ready to accept that power? "Are you certain this is what you want?" I ask.

She searches my face for a minute. "This isn't about me," she finally says. "And unless you have a better idea, it's the best I can think of."

She simply needs encouragement. I question her no more. Once Josh is done packing, I direct him to set every speck of the drug he has in the house on fire. He may not disobey. My glamour is light, for he must remember how much he doesn't want to destroy the extremely valuable substance, but does, nevertheless, as if this unknown force compels him to turn back once and for all from the dangerous path he has chosen for himself and forced upon his woman and child.

We leave while the flames are still consuming the last evidence of Josh's and Max's past. The humans are quiet; three heartbeats resonate in my ears, but I am attuned to only one. She isn't asleep, just very tired, trying to relax.

(soundtrack imbedded)

I spread my energy wide, detecting no essence around us. It is a few hours before sunrise; the highway is nearly empty. A car behind is gaining on us, trying to pass us from the left. Sookie suddenly jolts forth and grabs Josh by the shoulder, "Hit the break!"

He does, as I see a window of the rival car being lowered and a black muzzle of a machine gun erupting with bullets. I duck down, covering Sookie with my body. Josh spins the steering wheel, and the Mercedes makes a screeching turn and then rolls over onto its roof and off the road.

I never use seat belts, and this time neither did Sookie. I got her safe, though, curled up, pressed into my chest. I smash the window and quickly evacuate us. The other vehicle has already made a U-turn and is gaining speed, coming at us again. In a flash, I am head to head with it. I grab it by the front fender and yank it up, tipping it over onto the passenger side. The breathers shout, curse, and resume the fire, but all they hit is air. The next second the metal mass lands onto the roof. I flip it again onto its wheels, a few yards away from the road.

There are two men inside, shaken up and injured. The driver is tugging on his safety restraints, trying to get out. The shards of the broken glass scratched his face, and a deep cut on his arm is profusely bleeding. The shooter is in the back, still grasping his weapon.

"Fanger! We hit a fanger, bro!" he keeps repeating, in shock and panic.

He is scrambling to get away from me through the other window, but I tear the door off and, reaching inside, grab him by the throat, when a sudden pain scorches me. Silver chains! Instinctively, my essence recoils.

A sound of yet another car speeding down the highway penetrates my hearing, distracting me for a moment. Fuck! Whom else do I glamour or kill tonight?

"Yeah, that's right, you bloodsucker! Eat this!" the man screams, thinking I am retreating. He yanks one of the chains off his neck and throws it into my face. I back out and catch the poisonous metal. My skin is burning, but I feel no pain. Suddenly, I am furious, losing my cool concentration. I hate being ambushed, shot at and then silvered!

With my free hand, I jerk the piece of shit by his ankle out of the car and on the ground. He shrieks as if I have dislocated his hip. Who gives a fuck!

"Eat _this_!" I wrap the chain around his neck and yank, hard. A snap, just like with the Doberman, tells me he is over.

The driver of the wrecked sedan has managed to crawl half-way out of his window and with trembling hands is holding a pistol at me. As the approaching car is getting critically closer, the man's finger is tightening on the trigger. In an instant, I grasp his hand and turn the muzzle away from me and into his chest. The sound is surprisingly louder as if more than one gun is being discharged.

Something in my head is _yelling_ of danger. Sookie!

**SPOV**

I would have heard them sooner, if I hadn't been blocking since we'd left the hotel.

My bag was in my hands, when the car rolled over. Eric pulled us out of the car and disappeared to deal with our attackers. Josh and Max were hanging upside down, stripped to their seats.

"Fireworks!" Max yelped.

Josh didn't say anything. He couldn't. He was dead.

So much for giving Terry a chance at having a normal family, with Mommy and Daddy. Brave Sookie Stackhouse, her noble quest had sadly come to an end just a few minutes after she had boldly convinced a vampire to help humans he didn't care about. All for nothing.

I dragged myself up and shook my head; it seemed to have helped with the ground stopping its crazy up-an-down dance.

The pursuers' car was now somewhere to the right, across the road on a long diagonal from me. I could feel Eric there, like a compass feels a magnet, only a magnet that is filled with an impossible combination of the thrill of the fight and cold intent. It was so intense that my body reacted by pouring a ridiculous amount of adrenaline into my bloodstream.

I trotted around the vehicle to get to Max's side. His window was still intact. As I looked around for a nice rock, I was caught in headlights closing up fast from the opposite direction.

I might have cursed, I'm not sure. As soon as I breached into the driver's and his partner's heads, I knew they were ordered to kill _everyone_, just to make a point to others who wanted a piece of nark-pie.

For Christ's sake, will this God damn weekend ever be over?! And just how in the world did we manage to get ourselves in the middle of a drug war? That's exactly the danger of hanging around vamps for too long – you tend to forget how despicable your own fellow humans can be sometimes.

There was nowhere to hide. They saw the Mercedes belly up on the highway shoulder and then me – a lurking figure, and in their minds I was already a corpse.

My hands remembered they were still holding the bag. Molly's gun was in my bag. Molly's gun was in my hands.

I stood still and aimed above the headlights where the windshield was supposed to be. Thanks to Eric's blood, I pulled the trigger faster than the second assassin. Again. And again.

The glass shattered, and the breaks shrilled, and the tires grated against the asphalt, but I couldn't stop. Then something came crashing down on the SUV roof, and it came to a screeching halt, only yards away from me.

I watched Eric drag both men out through the ex-windshield. They were still kicking. I was a horrible human being and a lousy shooter.

"They were after Josh!" I said, as if to myself. What difference did that make?

The vampire jumped, and they were gone. I returned to the Mercedes and tried to find that rock. Would Eric glamour or kill them? I didn't want to know. I didn't care. They didn't come after me, but they would kill me like a fly. What am I thinking?! The first time, they did try to drop all of us like the dead! And the second time… well, let's just say that being inside the head of a man who, without a shred of hesitation, is ready and willing to finish me off with a machine gun the kinds of which soldiers bear is a pure revelation. I'd looked the death in the eyes many times before. Tonight, I looked _through _them. I never wanted to experience that again.

They got Josh, though. Mission accomplished. Signed, sealed, delivered.

It was a miracle no one had passed by within… a minute? two minutes? It wasn't safe to linger.

"We must move," Eric said, reappearing by my side.

"Josh is dead."

"I know."

He flipped the car back on the wheels as if it weighted less than a feather. He removed the body and tried to start the engine.

It worked.

"Drive until the first sign to Blue Diamond," he said. "Pull over and wait for me. I'll deal with the rest and catch up with you soon."

I silently handed him Molly's gun, and, with a push from the mighty Viking, the white bird was on the smooth road again.

**EPOV**

Fucking mess. The entire night – no, weekend – is a fucking mess!

Sookie is fast asleep, and I hope she will not dream, for I worry her nightmares will resurface again. Her warm golden glow comforts and appeases me more than anything, calming me down. How ironic: more I try to keep her safe, graver the danger I pull her in.

My cell phone lights up with an incoming call from an unfamiliar number.

"I have picked up your package," a man's voice says. "ETA five hours."

Without a word, I disconnect.

The events of the night whirl in my head, and I welcome the sun as it pulls me under, obliterating the angry chaos inside me.

I should not have let her come with me…

_I roll the first car farther from the road, off the low hill. Satisfied that it is not visible from the highway, I go on to stuff the bodies inside the SUV trunk, discovering a three-gallon portable plastic fuel tank in the process. Josh does not fit, so I put him on the back seat._

I lie, alert, well before the sundown. My wife is next to me, and I roll on my side and mold myself to her small frame from behind. She sighs, but her slumber is undisturbed.

I send my energy free around me, recalling the three-dimensional floor plans. More vampires and humans means more movement and patterns. Tonight, we are returning to Shreveport, and I find I am more inclined to be surrounded with vermin than to spend another night at Hacienda or in Las Vegas, this overpopulated and obnoxious city.

_I take them for their last ride – back to the cabin. As I reach the shack, I turn around and, on reverse, drive right through a flimsy wall and into the dwelling. I lay the bodies on the floor and generously pour most of the gasoline all over. _

I have long considered that de Castro uses his position to antagonize Victor and me in order to escalate the conflict of interest between us – a conflict only a blind person cannot see – but only this weekend, because of the dog fight, did he let his true disposition toward me become known, which was the price he paid for betting on those beasts. His decision – I am certain – was made in a spur of the moment, for no one could have predicted that the vicious monsters would be so strong and relentless in their hunger for warm blood. I survived and won, De Castro lost, and Madden is paying for it. Last night, the king's strategy was to humiliate his regent and imply that he is incompetent. With me, on the other hand, he employed thinly veiled threats followed by unexpected favors (humans call such approach a method of carrots and sticks.)

_I torch the place and my own blood-stained t-shirt. Once the car's gas tank explodes, I leave. The wood the cabin is made of is dry and will burn fast and well. _

His fucking majesty stated clearly it was his wish that _I_ gave him his crown, for I am the symbol of his success, and if I chose to refuse, he would have to "waste Yashimo's time to fetch the Tiger, and he hates going down to the pits." The king's wish is an order; I had no choice in the matter, of course, so mentioning Quinn was yet another attempt to unsettle me, explore my "weakness". True, I do not care for the were; however, there is Sookie… Not without jealousy, I admit to myself that I do not wish Fluffy anywhere near my woman. I wouldn't refuse de Castro's order, even if I had the luxury to do so. That bald cat is an enemy, who thinks he lost her to me and because of me; whom I banished from my territory; who was stripped of everything he's ever owned, including his share in a profitable business, and sent back to pits for three long years – as close to a death sentence as a punishment can be.

_I bury the weapons and then return to the first car. I burn it as well, first dragging it deeper into desert. Finally, I reach my Sookie. I dispose of the scratched up and dented Mercedes, setting the third fire ablaze, and leave Max not far from the highway._

She does not need to know of Quinn's fate. She is under a tremendous pressure: injured, then healed physically but traumatized emotionally; exhausted mentally and challenged by her gift; coveted by my own superior and my enemies; and yet still finding it in herself to stand tall and play. Sookie's move was perfect, although I wouldn't have asked her to do something she considers humiliating. At least, it was done to our advantage. The spike of anger from de Castro was unmistakable when he saw the chain – a Master's brand, my brand. Mine, indeed, and spoken for in a language they all understood perfectly, for after the fight no one will chance that I will give up what is mine easily.

_We fly to Las Vegas. I spot a yellow car parked in a quiet street. The lights are off, but the warm presence inside must be the driver. Unceremoniously, I wake him up and bluntly demand to take us to Hacienda. I pay not only for the fair and a spare (thankfully, fresh) shirt the taxi man keeps in the vehicle, but also for a long way to pick up Max and deliver him to Long Beach._

Another disturbing complication is Eugene Harold's behavior, the very definition of mixed signals. He is careful. Waiting. His energy is well controlled, showing no signs of an internal conflict. I agree with Sookie that he has interests that presently do not completely fall in line with those of Madden or the king. I came to Vegas searching for answers, but instead I find more questions. Whose side is Harold on? Is the new man he insisted on sending to Area Five as my apprentice ("to learn from one of the most profitable and successful sheriffs of His Majesty") his own spy? Fuck! As if I need another pair of fangs, following my every move and reporting my every word!

Not only that; the short meeting de Castro held in his office made it clear that he has no intentions of pulling out of Louisiana or Arkansas. Whoever supplied intelligence to the King of Kentucky was either misinformed of Narayana affairs or intentionally misled the Amun rulers.

The diplomatic takeover is a failed plan.

"_They were after Josh," she repeats. _

"_They had silver."_

"_Coincidence, Eric. From what I had time to piece together from their jumble, they were his competition. The silver chains could have to do with their group's insignia. I don't think it had anything to do with vampires."_

_The first assassin I killed was indeed surprised when he realized I had fangs. It is for best, then. If the bodies are ever identified, the shooting and the fires will be attributed to gang activity._

"How was your day?" I ask once she is awake and the sun is set.

"Good." She yawns, covering her mouth with her small hand. "Lunch. Some shopping. I've already packed." She is as impatient to leave as I am.

She seems to have come to some inner decision, for she is mostly at peace. However, there is more, and it must wait until we are completely alone again.

Valetti rings to notify that his Majesty had some very important matter to deal with, and we will be unable to see him before our departure, but he, Valetti, will be happy to relay our humble wishes and bid our good-byes to the King.

When we check out, Mr. S, as Sookie calls the human administrator who assisted us the first time, personally handles our survey papers and collects the key-cards. She warmly thanks him, genuine in her attitude. Perhaps, her ability to remain true to herself, to her own nature is the very essence of her attraction to all live and undead that surrounds her.

Voice messages have accumulated on my phone, and unread e-mails have reached an unacceptable number, but I only begin going through the correspondence once I am on board of Anubis Air, and Sookie closes her eyes, relaxing to a soft music flowing into her ears through headphones. The next two weeks are crucial; I have a ridiculous amount of work, planning, and coordinating to do…

_Our tracks are covered now, burnt to ashes in the desert of Nevada._

… but not tonight.


	7. Ch 5: On Hight Part 1

_A/N_ _My good friends over at Fangreaders have put out an Autumn Reading List for weekly chats preplanned for September and October, and __**Put Me First**__ is featured on that list for September 17th chat! The time is 8 pm GMT, or 1 pm PST, and if you want to join in just follow the link in my profile page or go to _ : / / fangreaders . blogspot 2012 / 09 / attn-date-corrections . html (remove spaces)_and request a password to the chat room. Looking forward to seeing you there!_

**Ch 5: On High. Part 1**

Passion by artediamare

**SPOV**

We didn't make it past the kitchen.

*LEMON ALERT (to read the full version visit my homepage)*

There are very few things in this world that can compare to what it feels like to come back home, alive, and I deemed that we'd properly celebrated our safe return to Louisiana.

I took a quick shower while Eric brought the luggage downstairs. We barely had time before sunrise, and there was so much we needed to discuss, yet all I wanted was to lie still and let the moment of peace last for however long it would last.

Futile hope, of course.

I told Eric about my lunch with Brittany. The poor girl had been crying her eyes out, because Ridley was leaving her behind until he would find a suitable house and make arrangements for her to join him – as it had turned out – in another state. She didn't know how long she'd be waiting for him to call or where he was going, but he'd warned her to stay away from Hacienda and vampires in general while he wasn't around.

"If he doesn't show up in your area in the next few days, I'll be very surprised," I said. "Too much of a coincidence, given his job and all. Except for I was under the impression his bosses had been planning to send him _after _the coronation. I don't know why the timing changed all of a sudden. And his precautions with Brittany…"

"May be indicative of the controversial or dangerous nature of his assignment," Eric nodded. "Harold isn't Ridley's master, though; there is another lower-ranking officer at the court in charge of the department he belongs to."

"But Harold is like Felipe's right hand. He could easily override whatever orders had been given to Ridley before." I racked my uncooperative brain for a moment. What if there were factors other than the official hierarchy? "Is there a way to find out if Ridley is connected somehow to Harold or Victor? You have spies; this is the perfect time to use them."

His eyebrow perked up, "Victor?"

"Yeah. You never know whom else he might have in his pocket."

"You're proving yourself rather adept in vampire bull shit, my lover."

That wasn't a compliment I wanted to hear.

"I felt your warning," he suddenly said.

"What?"

"On the highway, you warned me of danger."

"That was the idea." Good to know I could jerk my side of the magical rope, at least when shit was about to hit the fan. "It worked. You stopped that SUV before it would crash me like a bug. We got through it together."

Eric curtly nodded. I waited for the other shoe to drop, really hoping that the conversation about me jumping in front of loaded guns and speeding cars wasn't going to happen now, minutes before sunrise. Or ever after, for that matter.

"There was something else, though."

Oh, what now?…

He took my hand and ran his thumb over my knuckles. "Your anger, the split second before you used the weapon."

I rolled on my back and stared into the ceiling. The screens were on, running the loop of the starry sky and rainforest, filling the bedroom with a soothing nocturne. It had been a little over two weeks since I'd first visited the Glass house, but, despite the short period of time I'd spent here, mostly as a guest, it had truly become mine. "Fear, anger… Natural reaction, that's all."

"For you, yes. Not for me. Not under those circumstances."

I sighed. "Do you ever give up, Eric?"

"Not when it comes to us and the bond. I felt your anger as if it was mine. I may have acted upon it, too."

"Okay, so I messed up your cool concentration," I said, irritated more than I should have been. "I didn't mean to, but I'm sure you can understand my reasons for being pissed off." I might not have killed anyone over the weekend, but I'd shot at two people. Was there a point in bringing up how mad a person could become when someone was trying to gun them down? My conscience, though, was clear. I hadn't pulled the trigger until the last moment, giving them every chance in the world to stop, to change their course. But they had been set on collision. I'd had no choice: self-defense wasn't a whim; it was an instinct I was hell bent on developing.

"It is not me I am concerned with."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes; Eric's worrying about me – nothing new about that. Or so I thought.

"I suspect myside inadvertently interferes with yours, as the opposite is true," he went on, "We both must treat the management of the bond as a priority in your training."

"You make it sound like it's a college course. Any prerequisites?"

He ignored my sarcasm born out of inability to think straight anymore. "We need to learn how to keep our distance, to avoid possible conflicts. Above all, I do not wish for you to experience a vampire _stormr_ whenever I am in a turbulent state, which is bound to happen, Sookie. No need for you to go through that if I can help it without blocking our connection."

Not a couple of weeks ago, the suggestion that the bond could influence my emotions beyond my control would make me livid; now, it hardly seemed as dire as Eric's tone implied. Or, maybe, my mind refused to recognize anything else as such. I was so tired I felt numb. The past twenty four hours or so I'd been running on fumes, and only the sensation of the constant danger and the weight of responsibility had been giving me the strength to hang in there. With the tension gone, I felt like a deflated balloon. "What, you already regret being tied to me?" The words stumbled out in a slur.

"Woman, I shall spend infinity proving to you I will never regret being yours." If I didn't have the high bond between us, the noticeable accent and the hoarseness in his voice would give away how serious he was.

"I know," I mumbled, my eyes already closed.

That night, he didn't bite me, and I didn't ask.

When I woke up, my first instinct was to check my shields. Again, I found myself closed off from the outside world. This time, though, I couldn't even sense Eric's void. Only the soft murmur of his dormant consciousness was disrupting otherwise complete silence within me.

I cast the mental net and found a minimal number of familiar human and Were brains around. Valerie's red snarly knot was also nearby, hovering somewhere above the house.

I snacked on a granola bar and crawled back into the bed; "hello"s and "how've you been"s would have to wait until later.

Eric had left a book for me on the nightstand, with a note to start reading and practicing the marked passages. It was an old tract on controlled breathing and meditation. I flipped through the yellowish pages and studied a couple of drawings illustrating the exercises and poses. Interestingly, the Viking had skipped most of the text dedicated to meditation, concentrating heavily on the practical side. After I read the introduction, I conjured his reason could have been the fact it would take years for me to achieve any meaningful results through the traditional reflection and self-examination approach described in the book. I only had days.

I picked a simple routine designed for relaxation of mind and body and began by memorizing the basics and then doing the actual exercise. Apparently, I did well, because the next thing I knew I was floating in the sapphire blue of Eric's eyes.

"What time is it?" I asked, blinking to clear my bleary sight.

"Past eight."

I yawned into my palm. "Was I snoring?" Gran had once told me I did a little whenever I was extremely worn out and physically exhausted.

Eric chuckled, "Not loud enough to wake me."

"I knew there were perks to being married to a vampire," I said with another yawn, sitting up and stretching my limbs. "Plus, I don't have to worry about you leaving the toothpaste uncapped or grumbling if I use your razor. Yeah, I made a wise choice."

He laughed, "Upon my honor, indeed."

He was already dressed in his usual jeans and a casual bright green tee-shirt.

"Are you off to Fangtasia?" I asked, moving to kneel behind his back.

"Yes, my lover. I shall see you soon, though," he replied, remaining perfectly still so I could weave his hair into his favorite fishtail braid. "I have arranged for you to sit down with the attorney, Cataliades. He will be at my office after the closing. He is at your disposal if you have any questions."

Actually, I did. My family house, the inheritance, a trust fund for Jason's unborn baby… I wanted to make sure my affairs were in order, if anything should happen to me.

I tied the braid with one of my bands and gave him a kiss on the side of the neck. "All set."

"I shall make time for us to begin your training tonight, as well," Eric said.

I would be lying to myself if I said I wasn't counting on it. What happens in Vegas, doesn't always stay in Vegas, at least not for me: I was yet to tell him what had happened to me during and after the Vamp-dogs' attack.

I spent minimal time tidying up the bedroom. I'd used the hotel services to have all our things cleaned and pressed, except for what we'd worn on the plane, so there wasn't much for me to do but to put everything away. Just for the heck of it I counted Eric's shirts. Minus three. At this rate, we'd be seeing Rassini and the triplets very soon again.

I left Eric's gift I'd gotten for him in Vegas on his nightstand. Thanks to Bruce Stanton's meticulousness, he'd remembered to text me the address of some famous pawn shop (although I'd completely forgotten we'd even spoken about it), and on Monday I'd ended up finding one of those over the top belt buckles the Viking fancied so much and no less appropriate (I hoped) souvenirs for the rest of the family and friends, Valerie included.

"Thank you, Sookie. You didn't have to," she said, concealing her surprise with a polite smile. Hah, that was on old trick in my book.

"No problem, I thought you might enjoy it."

She pulled a small jade fu dog out of the bag and carefully put it on the bar counter, looking at it from all sides, while I popped a capsule with coffee into the coffee maker. I'd learned about her fascination with the Chinese symbol of protection when I'd been honing my skill of reading shifters. To my luck, the pawn shop had one statuette for sale, very close to what she'd had envisioned in her head.

"How are things, Val? How's everything in Bon Temps?" I asked. I'd been practically out of touch and had no idea of the progress Terry would have made with the farmhouse by now, not to mention my brother's proposing to his pregnant girlfriend.

"It's been quiet. No trespassers in the woods."

"And Terry?"

"The attic is cleared. He brought everything down," she replied. "And Sam wanted me to tell you you've been missed."

Peacefully standing in the kitchen, piling up some ham and cheese for a couple of sandwiches and waiting for my coffee, it was hard for me to believe the crazy weekend had ever happened. "No more protests at the diner?"

Valerie gave me a nice run-down, and I absorbed the local news and even bits of gossip with a strange detachment. It used to be my life, all of it, and here I was, as if peeking in from the outside.

I grabbed my book and went up to the library. I had some reading to do.

.

**EPOV**

While Sookie is asleep, I work on important e-mails and, once the sun is down, make a few phone calls, Alluni being the first on my list. I wish to discuss the latest political developments with my allies as soon as possible, and he assures me he will see to arranging the meeting expeditiously.

Nothing has changed in the club over the weekend. The Fangtasia signs on the bodies of the staff are glowing in the comfortable semidarkness, synthetic blood and alcohol are being swiftly distributed, and the live music is making the customers lose themselves on the dance floor.

I do not linger in the main area. I let my underlings see me and head to my office, Pam following after me.

"Why is the DJ here?" I ask, for this Tuesday was supposed to be a regular fang-night.

"He keeps the nicer smelling people entertained and our profits high," Pam replies. "And I assumed you would prefer to spend your time working, rather than enthralling the vermin even for an hour."

I do not let us waste a moment, and my child brings me up to speed with the Area business first. She has granted a few passing vampires permission to spend the weekend in Shreveport and sent Compton to investigate a human-related incident at the Southern nest last night. I skim through his report: a little breather broke into the vampire dwelling on a stupid bet with his underage friends (human offspring can be a nuisance at times) and fell into a trap. Akka Holm held the intruder until Compton arrived. He established the whereabouts of the other two boys and adjusted their memories to reflect an evening at the movies with pop-corn.

That is one detail I don't give a fuck about, I think as I close the file. At least, this was a clean job.

"I overheard him ordering a new travel coffin," Pam says. "He is trying to keep you agreeable, so you approve his request."

I instruct my child to schedule a meeting with Compton. When he first went on assignment to gather information for the Vampire Directory at Sophie-Anne's behest, I was completely out of the loop. This time, I intend to ensure that he provides me with a detailed itinerary and calls in to check with Pam regularly while on the road. He is to report accurately about every encounter he has, and if he attempts to hide any of his findings from me, he will be punished. He must know that, even across the ocean from me, I shall have him on a short leash.

I proceed with Fangtasia and other personal business: there is no news from Dr. Ludwig regarding the injured supernatural; Hilda's behavior has been exemplary so far; and Heidi is here, although it is not her night to carry out the floor duty. Obviously, she is hoping to speak to me. This morning on our way from the airport, Sookie called the Long Beach Center and confirmed the arrival of the meth addict (fucking asshole! I can't think of Sunday night without anger) and his voluntary admission into their program. If Nevada vampires have been asking any questions, the tracker would know. I decide there is a merit in giving her a few minutes of my time and tell my child to keep her in the club past the closing hour.

As I am ready to dismiss Pam to work through the rest of my e-mails, patience fails her.

"Erik, about Sunday night. How many?" she asks, worry clear in her voice.

"Four of my doing, and one ended by his own kind." Thankfully, Josh, the sack of fat and bones, is not my kill.

Continuing in Old Norse, I tell Pam briefly of the events in the desert.

"I will search in the human news on the Internet for any reports about the fires," she says, "But you are certain you took care of everything."

"I did."

"Then, why are you not comfortable with this?" Pam persists, her eyes intent on mine. "Does it have to do with Sookie?"

"She is fine," I foresee her question. "You will see her tonight."

I do not hesitate to cut this conversation short. I trust my child; however, the mystery of the high bond and the X-factor are not only my secrets, but Sookie's as well. I shall tell Pam when the time is right and when my lover is ready.

My last task for her is to look into Ridley's background, connections, and alliances. "Call every one of our contacts if you need to. I wish to know everything about him."

"Yes, Erik."

Alone at last, I cannot help but take a moment and look around my office: a small, simply arranged working space. The new couch has been delivered; the smell of the fresh leather reminds me of the bedroom in the Hacienda suite. Sookie lost so much blood… And the shooting… I should not have taken her with me into the desert. I was certain that leaving her at the hotel would pose more danger to her than her coming along with me in search for Heidi's son, but the unpredictable kept happening.

The incident on the highway has brought forth new questions and vexations. For one, she didn't call for my help, only warned me of the danger; however, after speaking to Sookie this morning and giving it some consideration, I classify her actions as a sign of her growing confidence, rather than her lessened trust in my ability to protect her. Her evolving powers are another, more significant issue. With unease, I wonder if she is having trouble with her gift again. She saved our lives, but by an extremely slim margin. What prompted her to drop the shields at the last moment, a split second before the first assassin opened the fire? And if she was in fact blocking everyone out, how did their thoughts manage to penetrate her mental barriers?

As if on purpose, a wave of calmness drowns the bothersome musings before they seep deeper into my mind. Her action is unmistakably directed and conscious. Is she manipulating her side of the bond with such precision, already?

I send her my affection and return to work. I summon Garry and go over his tasks for the week, including arranging a walk-through of one of the properties for the new Fangtasia I've chosen based on his report. His priority, though, is to take the Corvette to the car dealer for the routine maintenance and oil change and have it back tomorrow night.

Sookie arrives before two, with Raven accompanying her. The half-demon lawyer is not here yet, and I use the moment to find out about my bonded's progress.

"Thanks, Yoda," she laughs when I tell her I felt her reaching out to me and how proud I am of her. "But, seriously, I had to do something, Eric. You were getting so worked up I couldn't concentrate on my breathing exercise."

Hmm, we affect each other deeper and stronger every night. Perhaps, one way to address the issue is for Sookie's grasp on the bond to strengthen; then, she should be able to counteract my influence more organically and naturally, without me obstructing the connection.

I have been keeping my energy globe in place the entire night; when Cataliades crosses into my range, I have Pam send the remaining staff home and finish with the register instead of Hilda.

I stay with Sookie to sign the deed for the Glass house and some other documents for joined property and several banking accounts, as well as the grant required by the vampire marriage law to establish that my wife is to inherit all I own in the event of my final death. She frowns when Cataliades explains the purpose of the paper to her and looks at me, disapproval swirling in the bond.

_Just in case,_ I tell her in my mind.

"Pam?"

"Taken care of," I reply indifferently, putting my name on the document, but in actuality I am impressed with the relationship my two women have forged and appreciative of the mutual care they harbor for each other. I am warmed suddenly with the realization that I am an integral part of that relationship. I only experienced the similar connectedness with Constantine and Vlad, ages ago. Is this how family feels?

The moment hasn't slipped past the half-demon's attention; his eyes dart quickly from my woman to me and then back into the papers spread before him.

"Is there anything else you have for me to sign?" I ask, a bit frostily.

"That was all, sheriff. The rest is for Mrs. Northman."

The word travels fast. I am not surprised that, as de Castro's legal representative in Louisiana and Arkansas, he has been notified of the title change, but what else does he know?

"_Can you read him?"_

She doesn't flinch anymore when I speak to her in this voiceless manner. I take the resolve streaming through the bond as her response that she will try.

"Then I shall leave you both to it."

I have warned the lawyer to assist Sookie with everything she needs and, giving them privacy to handle whatever issues she may have, join Pam on the main floor of now empty club.

"Another fruitful night," she notes, going over the receipts.

Heidi bows deeply once I approach. She thanks me in few words, but I prefer to listen with my energy, for her aura has become much harmonious to my eye, with dark patterns flowing almost merrily, giving me the clear proof she is more grateful than she is able to express.

She has notified her masters that her son returned into the care of human doctors on his own accord. "He neither remembers where he has spent the last few days, nor how he got to the Center," she says.

"He was hooked and cooked."

Heide stares at me for a moment, startled a bit with my new vernacular. "Because of you, he now has a real chance to reclaim his life."

"You ought to thank my wife for that," I say, and a momentary jolt of surprise comes from my child.

Encouraging Sookie to act boldly with authority she is entitled to is not enough. She deserves recognition for who she is and an opportunity to earn the trust and loyalty of my underlings with her actions, and not solely due to her marital status. I shall not take credit for the idea to send the human to the Rehabilitation Center, for it was a result of Sookie's unorthodox thinking. Besides, it will serve my underlings well to gradually learn she is a force to be reckoned with. I am not concerned that Heidi will misinterpret or create a rumor out of my words: it is in her best interest to remain silent about the circumstances of her son's appearance in California all together, much less of my interference into the matter, at her vehement plea.

While Sookie is still conferring with Cataliades, I satisfy my child's rather desperate need for information and tell her more of the adventurous weekend, starting from Victor's attempt to unhinge Sookie's control by mentioning pirañas and finishing with the rehearsal and Harold's treacherous behavior, omitting Sookie's anxiety attack or the questionable advancement of her telepathic range and power.

"Fuck a zombie!" Pam seems to be lost for other more meaningful words, which is a very unusual state for her.

"There is a lot of detailed information Sookie has procured, but for now I need you to concentrate on Ridley."

"Already started," she replies, still unsettled.

"She will also go over the rehearsal procedure with you. Make sure Cramer is prepared, too."

As I return to the office to finish my own business with Catliades, Sookie steps into the hallway. I am curious what it is that she has in a small gift bag she is holding in her hand.

"It's a surprise. Don't spoil it; she can hear us."

I steal a kiss from my wife's lips before she has a chance to sneak away from me. "Work with her on the coronation proceedings, my lover. She will pass your notes to Cramer."

"Will be happy to get it out of my hair."

I am eager to begin our training and find out at last what it is that nags at Sookie since Vegas.

.

**SPOV**

The moment I signed the documents making me the sole owner of the Glass house, I rescinded every vampire's invitation to my new home, except for Eric's and Pam's, and immediately felt better. There couldn't be enough precautions taken these days.

My vampire best friend didn't give me a hug. Instead, she put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed a little. "It's good to see you, Sookie."

"It's good to see you, too, Pam."

Another squeeze, and she let go. "I hear you have a surprise for me," she said, with a small smile.

"The real surprise is back home," I put the bag on the table in front of her. "It's purple, and it can make a good bonfire. You game?"

She smirked, "Any time, my dear telepath."

I could only relax after I'd given Pam the gist of the rehearsal. As expected, she was as moved with Felipe's involved preparations as I'd been, if a bit more vocal, "What a dick."

I left her for a moment to grab a bottle of water from the bar, and when I came back to the booth, I found Pam staring at the colorful bag she hadn't looked into yet.

"I should have been there with you and Eric," she said quietly.

I tried not to darken the mood. "You'll have your chance in two weeks."

"I know how you feel about our rules, even the archaic ones."

"I just played a role."

"He went along with it."

I shook my head. "I didn't exactly give him a choice." Wearing the chain had been my decision, although Eric's reaction had been far from approving. He'd hated it, in short, but I'd kinda put him on the spot, because there was no way we were going to argue about _that_ in the bugged hotel room. I was certain, though, I'd done the right thing sending the message to keep all fangs off me. "You would have done the same if you were in my shoes."

"Doesn't mean I would have liked it. Besides, he doesn't think of you that way."

Property? No, but he thinks of other humans that way, I thought as I said, "He played a role, too."

My conversation with Pam got me pondering on the short way home. Yes, my husband didn't treat me as if he owned me, but if I were honest with myself, I'd have to admit Eric's vampiric notions of 'breathers' would hardly change any time soon. Never was more like it. And why had he put up with my "chain" reaction, anyway? If he really wanted to stop me, he would have… He knew very well how wounded my pride and ego had been, albeit I'd been worried about the bigger picture.

"Have you had any luck with Cataliades?" Eric asked.

"Not much. I heard him very vaguely. He was thinking in another language, and whatever I could figure out from the images was related to our meeting. He was very careful, Eric. He may not know I'm able to read him, but he was protecting himself."

"He is very cunning and proactive. That you were able to venture into his mind even that far is a good sign."

I went silent again, distracted by my ruminations. Eric laced his fingers through mine. He was looking at the road ahead, and I studied his still profile and chiseled features for a moment before answering his unspoken question.

"I was just thinking about, uhm, us."

On our first date, I offered him my blood, and his seeming refusal to drink from me had deeply hurt me. Giving something nice and sweet and meaningful to my loved one was very gratifying for both of us, and his joy had been a wonderful thank-you. But… what if I was giving him a bitter, unpleasant pill, but meaningful and necessary nevertheless? How would I feel if he were to reject _that_?

I knew instantly I wouldn't be a happy camper. I'd be pissed off. I'd be feeling as if I were denied some essential, inherent right to decide for _us_, as if he thought he knew better, or that he could disallow me taking charge. And that would be the opposite of what he'd actually done: he let me take charge and do what I'd thought was right, regardless of whether I (or he, for that matter) liked it or not. I'd made the call, then and later with Josh, and in both instances Eric hadn't stopped me or tried to protect me from the consequences of my own decisions. He had supported me.

"What about us?"

Eric's words about making sacrifices and learning to accept them appeared to me in a new light. I used to think it was about how ready we were to give something up for the sake of our relationship. Now… now I realized there was a completely different meaning to it. Could I accept his sacrifices without guilt and let him do what he deemed necessary? Would he, for that matter, pay me in kind?

"If you were human and needed a kidney, I'd give you mine," I said. I didn't have a better way to put how I felt in words. He'd do the same for me, and I wouldn't refuse.

He got so serious, almost somber, it chilled me to my bones.

"Do you regret I am not?" he asked.

"No. I don't care what you are." I only cared that he was the man I loved.

"Sookie," Eric looked at me, "We cannot have it all, but what we have is everything to me."

He brought my hand to his lips and kissed the inside of my wrist, and I closed my eyes, relishing in the solace between us.


	8. Ch 5: On High Part 2

_A/N Thanks to JecaNC, MissRissa81, and AllAboutEric – it was a great chat, ladies! Also, Naima – you were missed in the chatroom, but I'm glad you had the transcript to read through. _

_So, here comes Part 2 of Chapter 5 On High. It has two lemon alerts, and although they are important for the story, I had to edit them out so as not to piss off FF Net Gods (or the tech support guys in India? IDK…) Anyhow, if you want to read the full version, you know what to do._

**EPOV**

I tell her not to eat anything until after we finish; a full stomach diverts blood flow from brain.

"Where?"

She thinks for a second. "Library."

I believe I understand her choice, for the deep, sage green reminds me of that night in the woods. Something profound happened then, and it was everywhere: around us, within us. Elusive, yet real, it almost felt as though a lost link had been found and the world returned to its original axis, if only for a moment.

I push the sofas and the coffee table aside to clear some space for us. We sit on the carpet, and I show Sookie a position similar to what is known to humans as Padmasana, or Lotus pose.

Sookie is somewhat agitated, "I don't know what to expect."

"Try not to expect anything. Let it come to you."

"So," she begins, full of determination. "I was thinking. Managing the bond is important, but I need to concentrate on this first," and she taps on her temple with two fingers.

She has come to a conclusion that her gift underwent irreversible and even progressing changes as a result of the intense mindreading and exposure, as well as the telepathic episode she experienced at the time of the attack. She describes how for a few moments her mind was open to every breathing being, and the monstrous flood of thoughts and images was literally drowning her in her own head, "… as if I was standing under a huge empty dome, and they all came at me at once from every direction. I was going down, Eric. And it hurt like hell. It hurt more than what that dog was doing to me."

I finally have the explanation for the mysterious massive pain I detected coming from her in those crucial few seconds of the fight.

"When I woke up, I had my shields in place, and that had never happened to me before. It's always a conscious effort to put them up, as opposed to bracing them. Since then, I have a feeling they're constantly active, even when I sleep. And I don't need Advil any more. I interviewed dozens of people and even streamed two guards live…"

I interrupt her, asking for clarification. As it turns out, she is now capable of watching through another person's eyes in the present moment, scanning the mind at the same time. The fact that she managed to monitor two guards while conducting the interviews is amazing, but even more so are her new individual blocking and filtering methods. The latter was a very astute attempt to minimize her telepathic efforts by restricting the general broadcast to exclude information unrelated to me and her.

"I didn't have enough time to experiment with the image filters, though," Sookie says. "I need to work on that, too."

I agree. Filtering is a way to sieve data; inadvertently, something important may be left out if the criteria are not given properly. In Sookie's case, the main complication is exactly what she was trying to explain to de Castro and the royal council: everything in a person's mind is subjective, images included. The way my wife sees or thinks of me is not necessarily how others perceive me; hence, filtering thoughts of others with Sookie's own impressions can distort the outcome. The only way to improve the accuracy of the filtered reading is to practice it over and over, until she is able to construct more sophisticated conditions based not only on hers, but her objects' perception.

I ask if she was able to sustain the filters as easily as the shields.

"I wish I could," she shakes her head. "It's new to me, so I have to put more energy into it. It's a bit distracting."

I quickly summarize what Sookie has told me. The filters may prove to be extremely useful if she learns to handle them effortlessly. Guarding herself in her sleep, though, already seems to be automatic. I believe it is a new unconscious defense mechanism, which could be a natural reaction of her brain to heighten the level of protection in response to the violent mental attack. Those few moments of absolute vulnerability could have been a trigger, a stimuli for the untapped in her to emerge. "Sometimes, certain abilities do not grow or manifest until the proper challenge is present," I add as I share my idea with her.

"Well, speaking of challenges… Remember how I heard those voices when I got into Dermot's head?"

It was the same kind of call she heard with her friend's unborn, I recollect, instantly alarmed.

"I heard them again when my shields went down. They were singing my name, and I can't be certain, but it felt like they were trying to pull me out of the whirlpool. It all stopped when I blacked out."

This piece of news is more disturbing to me than de Castro's political ambitions. "Could those be vampire voices?"

"No. The voids always act like wave breakers in the ocean of broadcasts. I can't explain, but undead minds aren't something I can miss or mistake for anything else."

There is another explanation, which I am not happy with. "This could be the call of your kin."

"Who, Niall? He can open a portal and pop in whenever he wants," she objects. "And Dermot and Claude show up uninvited all the time. They never call, trust me."

"What do you know of the rest of your family?"

"Not much," she replies, thoughtfully. "You know, Niall has never confirmed nor denied if there were others by Fintan. But how would they know about me?"

Hmm… Could it be because she herself called her family the night of our first date? Dermot, Claude, and even Jason heard her. "You must speak to your uncle, but do not let him know what happened in Vegas. Try to learn as much as you can about how the fairy call works. Until we know more, consider those voices unfriendly."

"I don't think they are. Why would they warn me…"

"On the highway?" it suddenly hits me. "_They_ broke through your shields?"

She nods, "It was like an echo of my name, but it was enough to make me snap and listen."

What the fuck are these voices?! I find it hard to decide if we should rejoice or be terrified of the possibilities. We are alive because of them; however, without knowing the purpose and the nature of their call, they must be treated as threatening. "Fairy or not, I don't trust them. It will be better if you stop reading for a while all together."

"That doesn't make any sense, Eric. They breached my mind once; they can do it again. What I need is the opposite – to lower every barrier I've ever built and listen."

"No. It is too risky."

"I don't think these voices want to harm me, but even if they do, all more reasons to know what they want from me. You could monitor me through the bond. If something goes wrong, you can bring me back. "

The glint in her eyes quells, and she frowns at my refusal. Her excitement is replaced with reprimand and disappointment, and I sense clearly how important this experiment is for her and that I support her. Still, I cannot bring myself to agree to her request.

"Sookie, we may be facing an enemy we have no weapon against," I reason. "What if I cannot pull you back?" What if they are stronger?

"I _need_ to do this, Eric," she says, exasperated. "All my life I've been shielding, because I had to and later because I _thought _I had to. At first, it was a sheer necessity. You have no idea what it was like to be surrounded by annoyed kids with chaotic, intrusive, and disruptive bombs for brains. But I'm not a child anymore. I've been cautious and afraid for so long I've never even questioned what would really happen if I open my mind."

She is ready to embrace her gift; stopping her now may destroy whatever progress she has achieved so far, with pain and blood, hers and mine, but in the name of Gods, this is so reckless!

"Vegas was brutal, but it didn't break me, it only made me stronger," she continues firmly. "Who knows, maybe if I had more practice before, it wouldn't even be so bad. Like you said, I need to attack. And if I don't win, at least I'll know what's out there and how to defend myself against it."

Sookie's argument is rather convincing; my only reservation is the mysterious voices. However, if I persist, she may proceed anyway, without my approval, or worse – during the day. I'd rather she is under my supervision than alone in this quest, which, I must admit, I myself insisted upon (although, at the time I was not aware that these darned voices would be forceful enough to penetrate my bonded's mental protection.)

My only choice is to acquiesce and minimize the possible damages,** "**With two conditions."

She purses her lips.

"First, I will show you how to access and activate the essence you carry with my blood in you. It will strengthen my hold on you through the bond should I need to reach out to you."

"Okay. That won't hurt."

"Second: let me glamour you."

"No!" she heatedly interrupts me. "No. I've got no memories to give up."

She would not have missed the point if she had heard me out first. "I have no wish to tamper with your memories, Sookie," I assure her. "It is your resistance to my skill I wish to test." If the anti-glamour property of her mind is related to or originated the same way the telepathy did, it is logical to assume it has also become enhanced. The timing, too, is essential. Once Sookie subjects herself to unrestricted flood of thoughts again, the additional exposure may cause even greater changes, and I need to monitor her progress and know at which stage certain milestones are surpassed.

She stares at me for a moment, as the bond pulsates with her mixed emotions; her trust overcomes her doubts, and she nods, once.

She takes a minute to even out her breathing and relax her muscles, and I recognize one of the routines from the book I left for her to study. Serenity spreads through her as if gates holding a sea of calmness are being opened. Good. Remarkable.

Sookie opens her eyes and locks her gaze with mine, and I am drawn by and into the bright blue specked with tiny granules of gray. The simplest and easiest glamour is always in harmony with the subject's moods and wishes: a tired person will not fight against the invisible call to sleep, and an excited one will laugh readily as if it is his own happiness that produces the joyous reaction. Since Sookie is in a state of relaxation, I decide to nudge her into a deeper trance. I gently probe to find a purchase to begin applying the miniscule influence, and I find none. Slowly, I increase my pressure, willing her to submit and succumb into a dreamlike placidity, but she is nonresponsive. She is not trying to keep me out, either, rather invites me into her mind, yet I gain no entry, find no door to unlock.

"What are you feeling now?" I ask, pushing harder.

"Nothing."

Another tackle, almost as forceful as I am capable of. "Now?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing. I suppose I'm completely glamour-proof now."

I retreat, for there is no use to try further. "Not necessarily. Your shields are up."

"Then we need to try again when I'm not blocking," she suggests. "Which brings us to your first condition."

For the next two hours, I explain with words and by example how I access, channel and use my energy to evaluate or restore my inner balance. In the beginning, she is frustrated, unable to reveal the dark magic in the bond and herself.

"It keeps slipping away from me!" she exclaims, frustrated. "I focus on my breathing and my heart rate to relax, but I still can't get a hold on it."

"Sookie, forget about your heartbeat. Forget the blood coursing through your veins, bringing life to your body. Forget that you need to breathe the air to sustain your existence. The purpose of the relaxation – for you – is to become as detached from your pulse as you humanly can."

"Pretend that I'm… dead? Undead?"

"No one can feign death, much less final death."

She shakes her head in confusion, "Then what are you saying?"

"I am saying…" Eternity compressed into a second. An infinite road that begins and ends in a single point. All-penetrating darkness and everlasting light, fused together. "… there is no tomorrow. There is no next minute. There is only this moment, and nothing beyond it. Close your eyes. Let it go. You don't need more than one breath to live. Stretch it. Forget about it. You have my dark magic, always in you, always with you. Rely on it. Allow it to rise and guide you."

I let my voice flow into her conscience like a gentle brook meandering through a green meadow, finding its unobtrusive way to the roots of plants and trees. My energy glows with white as I send a current after current into the bond, charging it with the love I have for my woman and my unconditional trust in her, commanding my darkness to submit to her. I fully accept the consequences of granting her the knowledge of the essence: once she learns how to deal with it within herself and the bond, the next step is to be able to manipulate the darkness within _me. _Willingly, I take her down the path that leads to control – control over the high bond and me. I would not have it any other way, though. She is a miracle, my _izaa-ra_, and suddenly I realize a night may come when she will teach me as I teach her now.

When I rise the next evening, Sookie is not by my side. She has lived in our chamber as my wife for only three nights, yet her presence here is so strong it hurts that she is not in our bed, next to me. Through our tie, I let her know I am thinking of her and miss her. Judging by the direction and the distance between us, she is most likely in Bon Temps. I check my phone; sure enough, there is a message from her: she is running late and will not make it back to Shreveport before sundown. Another message from Raven informs me of their whereabouts (Bon Temps, indeed) and that there have been no incidents.

I call Sookie, and she answers after the first ring.

"Hey," she says, slightly out of breath. "Hang on a sec, let me go inside."

I hear commotion and voices around her gradually being muffled as she steps into a more secluded space.

She tells me she is at the farmhouse. "When I'm done here, I'm going to see Tara and the twins at the hospital."

"Do you need anything transported to the Glass house?"

"No, my grandmother had sold everything that was valuable years ago," she pauses, and I sense a shadow of regret. Has she not found anything worth saving? "I should have done this sooner, Eric."

"Clear the attic?"

"Get rid of my own baggage."

"Is there nothing you wish to keep?"

"A few heirlooms, photos, and such." She gives a small chuckle, "And I'm keeping the house. It requires major work, and I want to make it sun-proof. I'm considering adding a guest house and a carport."

Vampire friendly _and _private. Interesting.

"That contractor of yours…" she continues, industriously.

"Price?"

"Yes, him. I want him to give me an estimate."

At once, I forward the contact information to her cell phone. "Just tell him who you are."

"And he'll drop everything and come running, I know."

"Do not doubt that."

"Hasn't even crossed my mind," she retorts, innocently. "Who'd want to mess with Mr. Mighty?"

Vixen! From bitter to teasing in a blink. "Do _you_ not wish to mess with Mr. Mighty?" I murmur to her, running my hand down my stomach and lower, where the sheet is tented above my groin. "I am quite in the position to be messed with." My erect cock is oozing cool fluid and wetting the cotton. "The sooner, the better," I add, pulling the sheet down.

"You're incorrigible," she laughs, but her desire tingles in the bond.

I shut my eyes, forcing the hunger for my wife to subside, but alas, she is the only one who can satiate me.

"What about you?" she asks, in a subdued tone, "Fangtasia again?" She is already distracted, and the tender possessiveness flares up in the bond.

"Later." Right now I do not give a fuck about Fangtasia. "I shall be working from home for a while."

"Will you have time for training tonight?"

What an idle attempt to change my mood! I reply nevertheless, "Absolutely. You should rest before we begin, though." She was exhausted after the first session.

"I'll take a nap when I get back home."

"When?" I drop the playfulness, unable to restrain my impatience any longer. "I want you." _I want to be inside you, _and I stroke myself a few times.

I distinctly hear her breath hitch up. "Not sure, _my lover_."

Uhmmm… Despite the distance between us, the hold she has on me is as strong as if she were in my embrace. Her voice caresses me like only her lips can, soft and warm, and her longing is so live and utter, it rips a low groan of need out of my throat. I am about to explode. "Sookie…"

"I'm not alone…"

Too late, though. "You make it _hard _, so hard to stop…"

"Eric… " I hear a door being shut and nothing else but her labored breathing. A zipper is lowered… "This is crazy…" she lets out a ragged breath.

With that single sound, the memories of our first date come crushing down on me. The Nest of Four playing… December… Her tantalizing scent… The burning want to caress and kiss her flushed skin… Her emotions wild with lust…

She moans, "Oh, God…" and a wave of heat flushes through me.

It is useless to try to distinguish each other in the high bond. We are meshing with and lacing through one another, as if there is neither space, no time between our souls.

"Tell me what you are doing," I ask.

*LEMON ALERT*

Her good-bye comment is 'we're learning to make lemonade out of lemons.' This must be yet another figure of human speech, since fairies and lemons do not mix.

I decide to use Sookie's absence to finish what I've started over a week ago, but before I extract the VL9 console out of the safe, I call Vlad.

"I hear something unprecedented took place on the West Coast over the weekend," he says. "I don't suppose you are allowed to share details."

I smirk, "I don't suppose you are implying that the Order is lacking intelligence."

He grumbles, "Thousands of devils, Norseman, your tsar loves secrecy. You have not learned this from me, but there aren't enough ears and eyes in the desert these nights."

I do not care for de Castro's instructions to silence certain events, especially if supplying information to the Ancients is a way to pay them back for their assistance with the research on the high bond. At the same time, I find it very disturbing that they are increasingly interested in our political climate, for not only they do not abide by our system, they are above it. The conversation with the A.P. has aroused suspicions in me that the Order is overstepping its own boundaries and breaking its cornerstone principle to remain in the eternal shadows of this world – to what end I do not know yet. Allowing the Librarian to send the VL9 to me under the pretense of _testing_ contributes even further to a forming theory of mine, which I hope will turn out false.

Vlad listens without interruptions, as I give the factual account of Castello's penalty, trial, and my subsequent fight with the Dobermans, omitting certain details pertaining to Sookie.

"Castello met five final deaths," I conclude. "They nearly drained him dry, but each one of those dogs' demises was a relief to him. He was completely stripped of any control over his creations. His mind was dominated by their baser instincts while his higher conscience was literally arrested in his own head."

"They mutilated the essence. I have never come across such perversion." He understands, for the true meaning of the former sheriff's torture lies in a plane of dark magic. "You are confident it is the regent, aren't you?"

"My instincts tell me it was his idea."

"I trust your instincts. So will my Maker." His voice becomes sharp and ice cold, "The Ancient will not take it lightly that the animals were turned. За это полагается смерть. Final death."

"Soon." I count nights until Madden makes acquaintance with my loyal sword.

"Next week, be prepared to travel. I will send you the coordinates the night before, once I know where you and your bonded are meeting Gòro. Bring the VL9 with you. We shall discuss your experience with it then."

It seems Sookie's wish to see my friend in flesh will be granted very soon.

I enter the main portal of the VL9 where my guide is already waiting for me. I have the special glasses on, but not the gloves. It is _my _turn to experiment.

Transplanted into the virtual reality, I set my essence free, removing every restraint I have on its swirl. Instead of spreading wide into the customary globe, my darkness clings to my body and grows denser and brighter, its countless tentacles extending slowly into every direction.

"Do you wish to initiate a new search or view the saved list?" the guide asks.

"New search," I command.

The familiar transparent screen with the default search menu materializes, floating before me. I touch it with the ice blue feeler, thinking 'fairy spark', and the values from the look-up menus come up in a fraction of a second. The results are displayed, and I sort them by origin, skimming through fae sources first. Some of them are in a language I am not familiar with. I tell the guide to assist me with those and look for anything related to the properties of the spark and its development.

Virtual books and scrolls appear around us, once the guide moves us from the main portal to a reading room. As I glance through every page, with chagrin, I curse the secretive nature of fae, for the information is either too ambiguous or extremely scarce, and only a few articles are worth more careful reviewing.

Once the spark ignites, it cannot be killed or taken, but it may be locked inside its carrier by a more powerful fairy. Without access to the spark, the physical shell suffers and rapidly deteriorates in a process similar to human aging, leading to a death in a matter of days. Also, it is the attribute of the familial spark that allows fairies to call upon each other, and not that of the fairy blood. In addition, the strength of the call does not depend on the degree of kinship, but is rather determined by individual development of the fairy caller. This particular bit gives me much to think about. First, only those of Sookie's fae relatives who have active spark can reach out to her (how many are there, though?) Second, logically, a one-eighth fairy has a potential to become as magical and even live as long as full-blooded ones.

The guide finishes with the texts, as it turns out, written in Caelli, with not much luck. The only meaningful fact he has been able to derive is that telepathy is not a fae trait.

"Reset the search," I command briskly.

I keep sifting through more data, but find nothing more on the fairy call or the specific pull Sookie mentioned that came along with the singing.

Fucking fairies! Every piece of data in the Archives pertaining to them has been procured in fight or by treachery and deceit. I know very little of their race, their values and beliefs. What do they fight for? What is the source of their magic? Perhaps, answering some of these general questions will give me a better insight into their way of thinking and order of existence. The more I learn, the better I will understand my wife's nature, for fairy is an inseparable part of her – one that grows stronger along with the spark.

If texts can't help me, other objects from or related to that realm may. Immediately, I think of the relic that almost cost Constantine his undeath – the treasure Green Fairies were guarding for many centuries.

I borrow Sookie's idea of image filters. I blast the search screen with a small ball of my energy, mentally recalling the visual memory of the artifact and transmitting that memory along with the energy, but nothing is found.

"Guide, assistance!"

He, too, is unable to locate the item.

"No such object exists in the Archives," he says.

Impossible! I myself held it in my hands! It was warm, emanating soft impulses of strange energy and…

Fuck me. Fuck! The X-factor?…

.

**SPOV**

I had too many things I didn't need. Me. Go figure.

"You can stop by and look, Jase. I'm donating whatever Maxine will take and throwing out the rest. Oh, and I moved in with Eric."

"You… what? When did _that_ happen?"

"Recently. Listen, I really need to get rid of this stuff. It's been sitting under the roof for years." I couldn't remember the last time I'd ever used any of it. Well, there was Tara's baby shower, but, seriously, when do I ever?…

"You sellin the house?"

"Pff, of course not! Renovating."

"Well, shit." Jason paused. "Congrats, I guess?"

"Well, shit. Thanks, big brother." Yeah, Jason would be Jason no matter how many bottles of beer I'd stock his fridge with. "So, do you want to take your pick before everything goes?"

"Nah. Between my place and Michele's we have more stuff than we have space to stick it into."

Finally, good news!

The happy couple was going to celebrate the engagement this weekend. Eric was invited, too.

"He don' have to if he don' want to…" Jason mumbled. "Just sayin. It's up to you, guys. Michele and I will be glad to see you both."

Wow. Invitation _and _consideration. I really loved my future sister-in-law.

Jason promised to pull some strings, and a dumpster truck arrived in less than an hour. Maxine stuck pieces of duck-tape on the items the charity group could use, and the rest went into the trash.

"I'll have these picked up off your property before the nightfall," she said. "You're gonna get your receipt in a couple of days, sweetie. Get to deduct that from your taxes by the end of the year,"

Terry had done a great job clearing the Bermuda attic and the fridge, and even his Labrador had been enjoying hot dogs.

"Good boy," I patted the yellow back and scratched the cute snout, reminded of pregnant Mona Lisa.

I had been unable to reach Dermot, and so my first appointment of the day had been at Dr. Ludwig's. She'd taken blood for tests and given me a "physical for supernaturals." The pale patch of skin on my thigh didn't skip her sharp eye. She rarely saw regeneration so complete, "Extremely accurate. Professional. This is more than vampire blood."

And more than just the neat dressing on my wound, I'd thought.

Dr. Ludwig had prescribed no stress, happy thoughts, and a stable schedule with plenty of sleep. She was probably the only person I felt comfortable enough to discuss my fairy female business with. She'd alleviated my worries, assuring me that I was perfectly healthy in that sense. So when Eric called, horny as hell, it wasn't the first time my lady bits became the topic of a conversation.

I waited for my cheeks to return to their normal shade before going outside where Valerie was watching over a couple of local guys taking away the last of the donated furniture. I was in a good mood when I finally got to see Tara. Her belly had finally flattened; she had one bundle of joy in her arms, and the other was peacefully napping in a basinet next to her.

I gave her a hug, "You look great. All three of you."

"James is six and Jamie is five and eight pounds," she said, proudly.

"Where have you been, Aunt Sookie?" JB was grinning with one of the happiest grins ever. His eyes were still puffy, though.

"Out of town. Vegas, actually."

"Really? Did you play? You could win a million! No one would ever find out how you did it."

"JB!" Tara hissed at her hubby.

"What? It's not like they would know she's…"

"Enough already!" She rolled her eyes.

I just laughed it off. JB was one of those people who had almost no barriers between their brain and mouth, but he had no malice in his heart. He'd helped me with my physical therapy with patience of a saint for months after the kidnapping. I knew for a fact he cared.

"Okay, okay, sorry…" he winked at me.

This wasn't the right time to tell them about my weekend, even if I were ever going to. Besides, my tale of vampire gambling would most likely disappoint JB, because one of his favorite movies was "Casino" with Robert de Niro, and almost everything he knew about the Sin City came from that film. In reality, undead passion for risk would appear unnatural for those who didn't understand their ways. Vampires didn't smoke, drink, curse, or throw piles of money on the table in blind rush. They didn't play roulette or dice games because with their super reactions they could foresee the ball dropping into the winning spot or the dice landing on the final side _before_ they did. Vampires didn't enjoy playing slot machines because they were slow and dull. If JB ever saw the plain sections with simple tables and chairs in the Hacienda vampire gaming level, he'd be shocked with a complete lack of lavishness or shine. Vamps just didn't give a damn about any of that when they played; they actually found excessive arrangements distracting. The quiet was so important to them that no humans were allowed downstairs when the game was on, except for donors who were confined in one acoustically enhanced room. Even the dealers were fanged. And the cards… well, imagine remembering each card with photographic memory – from its jacket! When Valetti had told me each pack was played only once, it had taken me a moment to figure out why. And I would never tell my friends about some of the vampire bets and stakes. Breathing stakes.

"Sook, do you want to hold Jaimee?" Tara asked, yanking me back into the present.

I carefully accepted the precious cocoon, forgetting instantly everything else. Jaimee felt absolutely fragile and helpless. She was sleepy and quiet, and the tiny cap had ridden down her face, covering her eyebrows. With a thumb, I pulled it back up a little and planted a light kiss on the forehead.

"Sookie!"

Instinctively, I held Jaimee tighter, but the parents noticed I winced, and Tara's eyes grew bigger. JB took the baby from me and returned to the scared mother.

"What happened?" she stuttered. "What did you hear?"

I hated seeing her terrified face.

"Nothing," I lied. "She's perfect."

On the way back home, I stopped at a grocery store to pick up some fresh milk and eggs. Valerie said nothing, just followed me, giving me some space.

Eric was less than patient. The bond gave away his hesitation, anger, and a tingle of guilt.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I raked through the fridge.

He glared disapprovingly at the brown bags on the kitchen counter. "You could have had Garry do this for you."

"I can handle a simple shopping trip."

He froze at my curt tone. "It is not what you _can _handle. It is what you _should _be handling."

"I can decide for myself, thank you very much!"

His eyes darkened. "You are free to do as you wish."

We glared at each other for a few seconds.

"I must go," he said. Now he was _really _angry, and it was messing me up even more.

I didn't realize he hadn't answered my first question until much later.

I made myself a cup of tea and took it downstairs. I slowly drank the hot liquid, trying to calm down, but much needed sleep came to me only after I'd done the relaxation routine half-a-dozen times.

.

**EPOV**

I can never mention the Archives to Sookie, but I need to find a way to share the information I have found with her. The bond alerts me she is unhappy; something must have deeply upset her while I was in the VL9. It must be personal, for Raven has not reported anything suspicious.

Sookie's frustration is overwhelming, and I make an extra effort to remain calm, but to no avail. I leave without learning the reason behind her agitated and conflicted state and fly to Fangtasia. No news from Alluni, and tonight is a fang-night. When a waitress brings me Blue Blood, I squeeze the bottle, shattering the glass. Instantly, Pam appears behind the woman's back and pushes her aside.

"Erik, do you want another drink?"

"Does it look like I want a drink?" I hiss at her.

"It looks like you want to entertain the vermin."

"Do not dare to presume what I want."

"I never do, Master," she lowers her eyes, but she is full of repulse. "I only think of what is good for business. The new clientele does not seek drama."

I take my 'drama' to back to my office. I distract myself with work, going through my nightly routine practically on autopilot. Invoices, bills, e-mails, financial statements…

The bond evens out; Sookie is finally asleep. Couples fight, do they not? No one said this would be easy, but what do I do? How do I fix this? Caveman! I should have let her speak out instead of losing my patience. I remind myself that, despite her amazing progress and improved control, she is still adjusting, both physically and psychologically, to her new life. It was my duty to help her; instead, I pushed her away. Dammit, Noresman! That she has agreed to be mine is nothing short of miracle!

Pam interrupts my regretful introspection with a brief report on Ridley. So far, there is nothing in his dossier that I could use; however, there are other connections in Europe that my child has attempted to reach, and she is expecting more information soon.

"Keep digging," I say. "I need to know whom he really reports to."

I take an hour to run (fly) my customary inspection of my other local businesses. All the while, my brain works on the unexpected discovery of the link between the X-factor and the artifact. I am certain now that the latter's energy vibe was identical to what my magical crystal emits, especially when Sookie directs her mood or commands her blood somehow. It is unclear, however, if her life-force is the very source of that energy, or if it awoke otherwise unknown powers of the crystal itself.

I am cross that the relic was not in the Archives, for it could shed light on the secret of Sookei's blood. The only explanation is that the Ancients had the item removed and stored in another more secured location, so no one, even those with full access, such as myself, would be able to see it. It must be of the highest value to the Order. My bleak suspicions that their interest in my business is really about my _izaa-ra_ only grow stronger. When Sookie and I meet the live source, I shall use the opportunity to learn from Vlad as much as possible of his masters' hidden agenda. I do not believe, though, that my trusted friend would knowingly mislead me.

I call Pam on my way back to Shreveport and tell her to close up without me. She hasn't had a night off for almost a week, but she mentions nothing, rather eager to take on more responsibility. I also instruct her to have Garry drive the Corvette to the Glass house. It is time for my day man to see where I live (naturally, he will never be able to reveal the location to anyone, I'll make sure of that.)

Inevitably, my thoughts lead me back to the argument my wife and I had this evening. I failed to properly explain that delegating tasks others could do without her direct involvement is a necessity, for her time is extremely limited, and it is important that she spends every available minute preparing herself for the very quest in which she has asked for my support.

I have Raven drive Garry back to the club once he delivers the Corvette and retire for the rest of the night in the chamber downstairs. Sookie is in bed, asleep; I kneel by her side, studying her face, beautiful and peaceful, yet touched with sadness, as if she is about to cry. Fool! I cannot stand the thought that I hurt her. The lessons of the past have not been lost in vain: I shall beg for her forgiveness if I must, without shame or reservation, for I am capable of regret and of admitting to my own mistakes.

As I undress, I notice she has put the bedroom and the dressing room in order. I throw my clothes in the basket and shove my boots back on the self where they belong. The fumes of the night city have soaked through my hair and clung to my body. I hurry to wash the world's traces off me, but the water feels so cleansing and revitalizing I close my eyes and let it roll down my face, my chest and legs, warm my shoulders and knead my arms…

Another kind of warmth floods me, and small fingers touch my back, gently, from behind. I do not move, bracing myself against the tiled wall, my eyes still shut. Sookie presses against me, running her hands over my shoulders and sneaking them around, coasting over my chest. Her slow breathing and even slower caress soothe my inner beast, silencing its rumble, filling me with tranquility.

"I freaked out," she murmurs. "I held Tara's daughter and made a mistake of touching her skin."

A child, the one thing I cannot give her…

"They called again, and I freaked out."

I turn around instantly, forgetting my doubt, "Did they hurt you?"

"No," she does not meet my eyes. "I… freaked out because…" her voice drops to a whisper, "I can't even hold a baby without scaring her parents. They are my friends, Eric, and I don't want them to be scared of me, to be afraid of letting me hold their child." She bites down her lower lip. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Sookie," I cup her face with both hands, "you have nothing to apologize for. It is I who owe you an apology."

She wraps her fingers around my wrists. "I know what you were trying to say. You're right, I don't have much time. I need to prioritize. I just couldn't help it. I needed to… do something…"

"Normal?" Human? Uncomplicated?

She nods, her eyes welling with tears. Her guilt eats at me. She is such a strong and wise person, yet there is this tender and vulnerable side to her that makes her entirely unique. Not the fairy blood. Not the X-factor. Not the bond. Just _her._

"I do not expect anything different," I tell her, smiling at her reassuringly. "Transitioning from one life to another is not easy, my love. There is no right way to feel about it. You feel how you feel, and be free to express all of that to me. I'm sorry I pushed you away. Never again."

"You didn't." She stretches up to me, as I bend closer to meet her parted lips. I kiss her slowly, reacquainting myself to her again. I have missed this, _her._

*LEMON ALERT*

The bond is peaceful again.

I feel how I feel. Right. This is right. This is best.


	9. Ch 6: Interim Quiet Part 1

**Ch 6: Interim Quiet**

Art: Your Light by ErinM31

**SPOV **

Mr. Taylor Price, the were-bear contractor, met me the next day at the farmhouse. I scooped him the second we shook hands and kept reading while we walked through the now rather empty house. He measured, tapped on the walls here and there, asked me about the fire that had destroyed the old kitchen, and even climbed up on the roof. I was quickly grasping the family house was in a much worse condition than I'd thought it was.

The main renovations I wanted done were a no brainer. The bathrooms needed to be completely re-done; the floors, the wallpaper, the fixtures replaced with new ones; and the windows switched to lightproof. I decided to move my bedroom to the second floor and make it larger by tearing down the existing partition between the two smaller rooms. There was still enough space for a walk-in closet (what can I say, I really loved how Eric had everything arranged in the Glass house) and an extended bathroom for two. The smaller bedroom downstairs would be converted into a home office/library, and the other one into a guestroom with adjacent bathroom.

The attic turned out to be trickier. Truth to be told, I had no idea what I wanted to use it for; I only was determined not to let it become a cluttered mother of all messes again.

"Well, for one, the roof must be replaced," Mr. Price said, after hearing me out.

"But it's practically new!"

"It's not just the top layer, Mrs. Northman. The entire structure, including the beams, must be replaced. If you want the attic to be habitable, I suggest shingles, the kind that will not overheat during summer and keep the warmth in the house better in winter."

I sighed; the tin was what my Gran had wanted, and I'd paid for it myself, a few years back… "All right. When can you send the estimates?"

"Once we finalize materials and finishes, I can put the proposal together within a day."

He took several photos of the inside and outside of the house, and we agreed to meet the next day at his Shreveport office to go over the samples.

When he left, Valerie shifted for a security check, and I started packing some personal things I didn't want anyone to touch but me. Professional movers could handle the rest and then put everything into private storage until the renovations were completed. I could ask Jason… or not. He had his plate full. Maybe, it was time I got Garry involved. He would have reliable connections, working for a vampire who was pretty much obsessed with secrecy and all, and now that I was part of his boss's life, it sort of made sense for me to use the same vendors.

But instead of picking my cell phone and dialing Eric's day man, I closed my eyes and concentrated, thinking of Dermot. He materialized almost instantly.

"Hello, Sookie," he said.

"_Ah llev, Dermot di ann_," I replied. The words of the alien language I'd heard Dermot and Claude speak in rolled off my tongue like I'd been born with the gift of it. I knew what I said, though: "Hello, dear Dermot."

"Caelli is no longer dormant in your mind," he said, with surprise, second only to mine. Suddenly, he opened his arms for a hug. It was one lengthy hug. Finally, he let go, with a smile. "Your call keeps growing stronger."

"You heard my voice?"

"Voice? Not at all." His apparent agitation was subsiding by a second, as if he was lulled into complacency. "A fairy call feels like a wire under one's skin. When you call, it sends an impulse of danger to my head, the stronger the call, stronger the impulse. It stings."

"Oh, sorry!" Ick! "So all this time, I'd been 911'ing instead of using a 1-800 number? Scratch that," I waved my hands in front of me, noticing his puzzled expression.

"You need to learn how to modulate – give it a more specific meaning, other than that of danger."

"I didn't know that was even possible." So, the fairy call didn't equal the voices. Huh. "Will you teach me how to… modulate?"

"Of course," he gave me a bright grin. "I have time now if you do."

I remembered my manners, the total lack of which I decided to blame on the shock of speaking Caelli out of blue. "Would you like something to drink? Are you hungry?"

"Water would be fine."

My eye didn't catch how a huge german shepherd leaped on my uncle from behind just as he was about to enjoy his drink.

"Val, no! He's okay!" Geez Louise, these jumping, biting super dogs were creeping me out!

She bared her teeth into his pale face one more time and growled for good measure before retreating.

"Let him go; he's okay!"

She gave one short bark and trotted away, while I helped Dermot up. I was hoping the damage didn't extend further than his shirt, now soaking wet. He was still in a vulnerable mental state, adjusting to the real world after the decades of the spelled existence.

"That was very, very unexpected," Dermot said, and the manic blue glint appeared in his eyes.

"It's my fault; I should have warned her."

I brought Dermot one of Eric's old tee-shirts and gave him a moment to compose himself. I found Valerie outside, already shifted back into her human form.

"Dermot is like family," I began. I didn't need to read her to see she didn't buy my half-ass explanation. She knew. Ah, what the hell… I had to trust someone – someone who was around me during the day. "He _is_ family, Val. You're gonna see him more often, here, and at the Glass house too."

"Yes, M'am."

I managed not to cringe at her formal tone. Clearly, there were boundaries Valerie wasn't about to cross: job first, friendship later. I could respect that, as well as the fact she would have to clear my order with Eric, since her contractual obligation to him was a priority. I stifled my irritation at this last bit of information I picked right out of her head. My curiosity, though, had been stirred, "How did you know about Dermot?"

"He smells of fae. And a little like you."

"And you still attacked him?"

Her expression didn't change, but something deep in her black eyes melted, then solidified again. "Being family doesn't mean he's not an enemy."

Well, I wasn't going to argue with her about that. What I really wanted to know if other supes could already smell the fae in me, too, or was it just Valerie who put two and two together because she was so close to me all the time?

"Your house is nearly empty," Dermot said, when I returned to the living room.

"I'm fixing it up."

"Have you spoken to Claude recently?" he asked without seeming connection.

"I have, over the weekend. I had a case of iron poisoning. I couldn't get in touch with you, so I called him."

"I suggest you not contact him again. It is no longer prudent."

"Why?" I frowned. "Is he in trouble?" Come to think of it, Claude had sounded _really _grumpy when I'd called him from Hacienda.

Dermot hesitated. "Not a few days ago, the very few remaining passages from Faery were closed. They weren't wide enough for anyone to travel through; they served only for communication. The last portal in your woods, the one that leads to Niall, is now completely shut, too," he sighed. "Our home has been cut off from the human realm, perhaps, forever."

That the portal was literally in my back yard wasn't exactly a revelation. I could only wonder why I hadn't figured it out sooner myself; a magical place like that had been attracting supes even before I'd been born. I also knew since Niall's departure a slim crack between the worlds had been left open; that's how Claude had gotten my great-grandfather's letter to me.

"What does closing of a fea postal service have to do with me staying away from my cousin?" I asked, confused.

"Claude has taken the loss of the connection worse than the rest of us."

Baffled, I stared at my uncle. Rest of us?…

"Fae need the magic of Faery – an ancient spirit of our homeland," Dermot explained, "and even that smallest of the openings was a way for it to flow here and feed fae sparks. Without it, I am afraid our dwindling numbers in this world will soon reduce to nothing."

"But if Claude and you are so badly affected, on the contrary, you – we – should stick together, right? Doesn't being around other fairies help?"

"It does, but it is the Faery magic that brings us all together and allows us to thrive around each other. The ancient spirit of the fae is like a great ocean, and the sparks are like drops. The drops may never form an ocean of their own. Without the magic flowing, sparks become isolated. Strange things happen. Changes. Defects. Unavoidable death."

"Why would Niall do such a thing? He surely knew how it would affect those who were left behind." Was he still at war? Was he afraid someone might try to use me or even Claude against him again? Was it worth condemning his people on this side?…

"I don't know, Niece. I'm not even sure it was Niall's doing." His eyes latched on mine. "Have you not felt the loss as if the very source of your spark has been gradually drying out?"

"I don't think I have. At least, nothing close to what you're describing." I'd been so immersed into vamp bull shit, I wouldn't even know if a bomb had been dropped on my head.

Dermot kept measuring me with his eyes from head to toe. The full meaning of his words was setting in, and I shivered. I was a fairy, too.

"It is a mystery to me why the isolation has not touched upon you," he finally said. "Instead of diminishing, your spark seems to have grown stronger."

"Are you saying my spark is not gonna deform and kill me?" I croaked. Rollercost again.

"No." He took my hand in his and squeezed. "When I am with you, I heal. You're special."

I swallowed hard. This was both good and bad. Really bad. Not only fae, my uncle and cousin included, were suffering and would die; if anyone caught a whiff of how _special_ I was… To what lengths would a dying fairy go to rekindle his spark, to keep it healthy? Would kidnapping be a moral no-no?

"I shall keep your secret safe," Dermot said, firmly. "The wards around this house are still strong, and I will teach you how to build your own spelled safeguards. You shall be able to protect yourself against unwanted visitors."

With great effort, I pulled myself together. Another secret, another kind of danger… I had even less time now; I couldn't afford wasting it on feeling badly or guilty for wanting to survive, or not wanting to inconvenience anyone. This was the time to be utterly selfish.

That day, I learned a lot, including how to read the spark's signal when iron or lemon acid was in close range. I worked on modulating my call; I kept stinging Dermot with danger impulses, until gradually I was able to tone it down, purposefully tuning it with my mood. Just like with every other skill, I had to practice this to achieve better results. If anyone had ever thought any type of magic came easy, they were fools. It was work, hard work, and lots of it. After the session with Dermot, I was exhausted again, so much so Valerie drove us back home while I took a short nap in the car.

Eric wasn't thrilled when I shared the details about my day with him. I knew what he was going to do: tighten the security, increase the intensity of our training, and worry for my safety.

"Dermot can work with you here any time of day or night," he said. "He has my personal guarantees that, while he's at the Glass house, he has nothing to fear either from me or Pam. Also, you need a weapon. Did the pistol you used in the desert suit you?"

Geez Louise, "I didn't think about it. I guess, it did."

He nodded, like it was a done deal, but he had something else on his mind, something he was hiding from me since last night. He never got around to answering my question.

"What's wrong, Eric?"

Eric arched an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes.

"As you know, Ridley is arriving tonight," he gave up first. "And I am expecting word from Vlad regarding our meeting with Gòro next week. That is all I can tell you for now."

Before leaving to Fangtasia, as part of my training, the Viking gave me an introspective on glamour, its levels, how it really worked, and what constraints vampires had with this great weapon. It surprised me how intricate glamouring really was and how much effort combined with dark magic it took to polish the skill to perfection.

Eric also gave me more reading material.

"This is on races of the supernatural world," he said. "It is highly informative, and you may come across something familiar, some skill or trait you have noticed developing in you."

I carefully opened the book, which looked like a bound collection of different types of yellowish paper pages covered in a scroll I knew very well. "Did you write all of this?"

"I translated part of it from ancient sources and compiled the rest based on my own observations," Eric said matter-of-factly. "I had too much time and not enough interests to occupy it."

The first entry was dated 1705. I was holding in my hands a real, tangible piece of Eric's past, which to me increased the true value of the recorded words beyond the meaning they carried.

I told him I was meeting Taylor Price the next day to finalize the renovation project and that I'd have the contractor forward the estimates to his e-mail address. I wasn't concerned the were-bear wanted to rip me off – he treasured his life and reputation more than scoring a few quick bucks – I just wanted a pair of fresh eyes to look at the quotes, especially since I'd requested vampire-friendly upgrades.

"Of course, I shall, my lover," Eric said. "You are in a hurry, though."

"I just want to get it done and over with. I don't want the burden to fall on Jason's shoulders, if…" I shrugged, "you know."

He frowned. "I do not care for you thinking that way."

"Don't be a hypocrite. I'm just being proactive. Or should I remind you about that one particular document Mr. C had me sign?"

The next morning, I made a quick stop at the contractor's office. I spent the rest of my day reading, practicing what I'd learned so far, and working with Dermot on teleporting objects, building wards, and cultivating my fairy spark in general (his words, not mine.) When he popped in, he was noticeably anxious again – a result of his own spark being isolated from the ocean of the Faery spirit – but after spending just a few minutes around me, he was miraculously better.

"It is as if you have the ancient spirit within you," he explained.

He mentioned Claude once, after I'd asked how he was doing.

"I am not staying with Claude any longer. I told him I had to be alone, that it was easier for me that way. I must avoid him, Sookie. If he asks me about you, I cannot lie," he said. "He will take my refusal to answer as a sign to seek contact with you, and I cannot let that happen."

My Caelli was improving, too. I could read chunks of Dermot's thoughts. He was sincere in his strive to keep me from the harm's way; although, his motives weren't entirely altruistic. He believed my… spark, my zest, my something that was making me so special, would best be fulfilled if I were with my bonded, because it was Eric's essence that had triggered and enhanced every process in my body and my own magic. Besides, the Viking was viciously protective, and Dermot valued his devotion to me like a father would appreciate his son-in-law's devotion to his daughter.

Dermot stayed for two hours, and by the end of the practice, I was exhausted again.

"Will you stay for dinner?" I asked.

"I must leave, Sookie, and you need rest. Your powers are still limited. Not only our training strains you; my spark, too, takes from you, and you're not strong enough to sustain it for long."

"But…" what, I couldn't save even Dermot? "You have to come back tomorrow, Uncle."

"When you are ready to continue our work, call me. And if you don't, I'll visit you, soon."

Some mollifying news came from Dr. Ludwig: the blood tests had showed that physically I was absolutely healthy. She didn't mention anything unusual that would account for the X-factor or the Faery spirit, and I didn't ask.

"Your real age – how old your body thinks it is – is twenty-three," she said, "largely due to you vampire's blood, but you still need to rest and maintain wholesome nutrition plan. Also, in light of your most recent changes, exclude iron supplements from your diet."

"Uhm, sure, okay." That iron pills could be poisonous hadn't crossed my mind; thankfully, I hadn't had one of those in quite a while. And twenty-three years old instead of twenty-nine – now, _that_ was really good news. At least, something was going right.

"The rule of a thumb for you – everything natural is acceptable; everything chemically generated by humans isn't. Eat plenty of applies, avocado, and other foods rich in iron; it is safe," the healer continued, in that very special medical tone only _super _confident doctors on TV have. "Also, if you find yourself restless and unable to sleep, try a glass of red wine before bed."

"I'm fine."

"Sookie, I may not have inquired about your non-existent scar, but do not mistake me for an amateur. You sustained a very serious, life-threatening injury over the weekend. Frankly, I am surprised you didn't bleed to death. You must take care of yourself, to minimize your current predisposition to anxiety."

I sighed. "Thank you, doctor. I will."

There wasn't much point in keeping my trainings a secret from Valerie anymore these days; instead, I made her my willing assistant.

"This is an acid test," I said, aligning a dozen of glasses filled with water on the counter. "I'm not gonna look, and I want you to squeeze lemon juice in some of these glasses. You can go from one drop to half-a-lemon, and then I'm going to try and determine which glass contains the most and the least acid." No touching, no tasting, no looking. Smelling.

"We don't have any lemons in the house," she squinted at me, "No iron either. You're extremely forgetful today."

"Very funny," I huffed. "So what, I'm… overworked," I said, unable to hold my own snigger.

"If you don't mind me saying this, you need to take breaks," Valerie said, after we both were done laughing. "I've seen people burn out before."

"I know what I'm doing." Did I? Well, I did take breaks. I'd taken some time to change the cleaning crew's schedule at the Glass house, met with Taylor Price…

She only tsked at my statement.

"Are you going tell Sherriff Northman on me?"

"I might, M'am. For your own good."

After another round of a let-go-of-tension kind of laughter, I took her advice. "Fine. Enough of this Harry Potter and the School of Magic stuff. I'm going for a swim."

"I'll call Garry and ask him to add lemons to the shopping list."

"Thanks. Oh, and blueberries, please." I realized I was craving those fluffy pancakes again. "You got me hooked, by the way."

She smirked, "Ain't nothing better than a warm stack of home-cooked carbs and fat."

It was already late in the day. I didn't sunbathe; I did several laps in the pool and then let myself drift a little, trying to think of nothing and failing miserably. I had a strong urge to get out of the water and put a swimsuit on, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't bring myself to cover up, not again. If I did, then Felipe would have won; he would have succeeded in taking away what liberty I'd accomplished and the right I'd deserved to be myself, to be comfortable with what I was, scars an'all. The pale patch on my leg – so what? If by the grace of God we lived long enough, I'd be able to even out my tan pretty soon again.

But it wasn't my looks I was mostly concerned with. Absorbing sun's wonderful warmth and light would give the fairy in me more strength – and I needed strength.

According to Dermot, it would take a few weeks before the weakest fairies started to die out due to the isolation from the Faery magic. He hadn't told me how their end would come, but I'd seen it in his head. It had made me shudder. I had this ancient spirit in me, but it wasn't enough to heal others. Was I going to take those deaths as my personal failure, if only in part?

I hadn't mentioned any of my trepidations to Eric. He couldn't help me, and I didn't want to add to his own problems: the Amun drag, Victor, Ridley, Harold… I had to work this conflict out on my own, just as I'd made peace with the fact that my telepathy wasn't going to save the world. We hadn't spoken much about this new power of mine, only discussed my progress with Dermot, but Eric was deeply troubled with how much more attractive (appetizing?) it had made me in the eyes of fae trapped in this realm. Sometimes, I wished I were just a plain human. So many complications could have been avoided…

When Eric rose, I gave him the gist of Dermot's conclusion about the limitation of my new quirk and also reminded him I had Jason and Michele's engagement party the next evening – Saturday night.

"We'll be at Merlotte's," I said. "Why don't you come with me? You're invited, too."

"I have work," he responded, rather grimly. There was a lot of unresolved anger in him these days, and we both were doing our best not to goad each other into another fight. "You go and enjoy your evening," he added.

Eric wasn't pressuring me to stay hidden at home all the time. I had to give it to my vampire: he knew I'd go nuts if I did, and, despite the dangers and his own fears of losing me, he wasn't infringing upon my freedom of movement. He trusted my judgment, and that counted in my book, a lot. Plus, every time he was about to say "be careful" but didn't, it made me even more vigilant with my own safety.

"I'll try," I said. "I've got the gun, by the way. Thank you."

Eric had purchased the Taurus gun for me, as promised. Don't ask me how he'd managed to get the carrying permit processed so quickly; I didn't want to know, and so I forbade myself so much as take a peek into Garry's head, when he had dropped off the pistol during the day at the Glass house along with groceries and a key to the storage unit where my things from the farmhouse had been put away.

Eric didn't go to Fangtasia until late that night, and we used most of the time working on my accessing the essence. He gave me some blood to replenish what energy I'd lost during the day and then suggested taking the training to the next level.

"I'll show you how to fly," he said, excitedly.

He sat on the ground in a-la vamp Lotus pose and closed his eyes, concentrating and flooding me with his strength and calmness. For a minute, all I could do was look at him, astonished with the beautiful perfection that was my husband.

He was glowing with a pure ice blue light – clear, deep, eternal, sacred light that would deliver me one day, I knew it in my heart, because my bonded appeared to me in this moment as he did in my dreams, drawing me towards him, calling out to every cell of my body, every speck of my golden dust, gently, but firmly, unavoidably. I saw the patterns of his essence, flowing, moving, forming complicated, harmonious structures, as if I was peering into a kaleidoscope of the dark magic itself and watching it slowly and fluently changing and evolving. One breath to live… One heart to give… And I forgot it. I left it all behind, only letting the pull of his love take over and guide me, and then something clicked, locked in the bond. The light changed, softening and warming in shade, infused with my own glow. I felt one with him, weaved into his very being so solidly there would be no undoing us; the separation would be excruciatingly painful and lethal.

"_Do it… like this…"_

New patterns emerged in his light, spreading into the bond, and Eric floated up a few inches above the floor and levitated in the air, remaining in the same pose of complete relaxation and tranquility. I used my only breath, inhaling with everything I had, willing his essence to come to me with that breath. I remembered the lesson of the fairy: in order to make the magic happen, my wish was crucial. But to truly _want _means to _believe._

My body zinged. A familiar swirl in energy stirred the bond, filling me with Eric's sharp presence. My folded legs parted from the floor, and the current pulled me up.

We hung in the air, unmoving, for what seemed to be forever or just a fleeting slice of a second. Our eyes remained locked the entire time. I don't think I blinked even once.

A shrill ring disrupted the harmony, and it was only because of Eric's support that my butt didn't come crashing down on the floor.

"Yes," Eric almost barked into the phone. "Yes… Later."

"Pam," he threw the home phone somewhere behind the bed. The session was over. "She has been trying to reach both our mobiles for a while. She felt something unusual happening."

"You've got her worried," I said. "How much does she know?"

"Very little."

"You should fix that."

"Are you certain you won't mind letting her in on the high bond?"

Plenty of times, he'd been there for me, to reassure me, to give me strength to keep going. Secrets were never healthy, neither for us, nor for him and his child. "Of course," I said, encouragingly. "She's like a sister to me, Eric. Besides, I'm getting really tired of hiding so much from people I love. It's not worth it. It's like I'm turning into a fairy, but in a bad way, you know what I mean?"

"I think I do," he smiled with just the corners of his mouth, "Thank you." The brilliant blue of his eyes blazed out of his white face. I ran my fingers over his bare chest. He'd been a fearless warrior in his human life; he must have battled dozens of battles, but he had almost no scars… How come?

*LEMON ALERT*

He left shortly after midnight. I soaked in a hot bath, my muscles mushy, my skin glowing with content, my mood brighter than it had been in days. Making love to Eric had relaxed me better than wine; I slept soundly, like a baby, dreaming again of the place with green hills and the warm, clear pond. When I woke up, my husband was in bed, snuggled into me from behind, his heavy arm wrapped around me and his leg, with knee bent, between my thighs. Cuddling with the dead? Yeah, I loved that, too.

Dermot shared lunch with me and Val; they sealed a peace pact over pancakes after he'd claimed they were one of those things that made the human world worth living in. Effectively, he upped the complexity of our training a notch, too.

We were outside, on the patio by the pool.

"You are ready to teleport," he said.

I gulped. "Okay." Shit. "Where?"

"Kitchen," he suggested. "That is not too far."

I crossed my fingers. "What if I materialize inside the fridge or in a broom closet or something?"

He gave me a startled look, "If you feel comfortable in a broom closet…"

"It was a joke, Uncle."

He chewed his lower lip, then uncertainly smiled, "I think I understand."

I supposed as much as Dermot was bringing the fairy out in me, I was humanizing him right back.

"Think of the best thing that has ever happened to you in the place where you want to teleport to," he said. "And over time, it will become a habit to make the jump without the precondition."

My hormones had to have been still in high gear after the last night, making it very easy to decide what the best thing was that I associated with the kitchen, and let me tell you, it wasn't cooking. No surprise, I popped up precisely at the spot where Eric and I made love the night we'd returned home from Vegas. Well, well. There were other places around the house I could easily teleport to right this second…

My cell phone rang in the back pocket of my jeans. My strong dislike of interruptions was acquiring a new meaning.

With a huff, I fished the phone out. The caller's name made me huff again. Alcide Herveaux.

He wouldn't call unless he needed something. I wasn't holding a grudge against him for the incident with the shaman drug. Till this day, I wasn't sure if he'd known about the true effects of the potion and had chosen not to tell me. Some might think I should be thankful for that, because it was that concoction that had stimulated the growth of my telepathy, according to Dr. Ludwig's theory. To me, however, the fact remained that Alcide had used me, playing on my weakness, challenging me to act against my better judgment because there was a possibility an innocent person would die, if I didn't agree to help. Yeah, manipulating people isn't vampires' exclusive prerogative. And while I understood where Alcide had been coming from, he'd lost my cautious semi-trust after that night.

So, when I answered the phone, my voice wasn't exactly overflowing with joy of hearing him. Sensing my reserved reaction, he toned his excitement as well.

"We're welcoming a new member to our pack, and it would mean a lot if you came," he said.

"I'm not sure. I have some things going on."

"I'm asking you as a very special friend of the Long Tooth Were-pack."

"No, Alcide, you're asking me as a telepath," I coldly corrected him.

"That, too. I was hoping you could read this new person before we officially announce the initiation."

Was he serious or delirious? "No. I can't get a clear read on Weres, and I'm not drinking any of that shaman shit anymore. Find someone else."

"Okay, okay, no drugs, you have my word. At least, give it your best try, that's all."

"Why? What is it about this person you can't figure out through your usual channels?"

"Nothing. I just want to be as certain as possible. Can't be too careful about whom we take in nowadays. One black sheep can ruin all of us, with all the protests and persecution of two-natured in papers and all… It would be a good morale boost for the pack if you showed your support."

Not to mention having Mrs. Northman's help with the pack's business would surely shore Alcide's authority, which made me think. Personal attitude aside, I _was _Mrs. Northman; I could disregard most of what Eric had told me about vampire marriages, but there was the part that dealt with certain responsibilities of the non-vampire spouse…

"Have you filed the paperwork with Eric yet?" I asked.

The silence on the other end of the line ensued longer than socially acceptable.

"Are you still there? Or have you just changed your mind?" I was perversely enjoying the moment.

He did what he always did when he wanted something go his way and wasn't getting it.

"So that's how it is now. You let him call the shots," he said, letting the bitterness color his voice. "I haven't realized how much you've changed. I hope you're happy."

"Grow up, will'ya? I don't owe you an explanation. Stop trying to go behind Eric's back. If you want my help, you'll do what you know you should."

Another pregnant pause. "He'll have the paperwork tonight."

"Goodie. I'll let you know if I can make it."

"Is everything all right?" Dermot asked, walking into the kitchen. "I was going to look in the broom closet…"

He just cracked his first joke! "Yeah, everything's fine. Just trying not to establish dangerous precedents, that's all."

My extremely lowered expectations of Alcide's friendship had prevented me from being disappointed in him, yet again. He knew damn well no one could approach me for a favor without Eric's permission, and that rule was the very foundation of my inviolability from encroaching supes who'd like nothing more but to find a way to weaken Eric's absolute right to protect me. I didn't go through the humiliation of wearing that damn double chain around my neck only to let Alcide destroy it all because of his vanity and macho attitude. It was simple – he just didn't want to _ask _Eric. Too bad. Now he had to, in writing, if he didn't want to make an enemy out of the most influential supe in our nick of woods.

I didn't let the conversation upset me. Later, when Eric awoke, I told him to expect Alcide's request. Needless to say, my opening line didn't lift either his spirits or his… _mood_.

"I shall deny any such request," Eric said, unapologetically.

I was prepared for that. "And how would that look?"

"I do not care how."

"Exactly."

"What is your point, my lover?"

"The point is to show you do, regardless of how you feel about it personally," I talked as I started undressing. I needed a shower, and I was running out of time; I wanted to sneak by the farmhouse first before the party. Eric leaned against the pillows, watching me. "Alcide's not your favorite person on the planet, and I completely understand that, but he's a leader of a large Werepack in your own territory."

"Are you suggesting my politics with locals is not entirely wise?"

Sarcasm wasn't going to discourage me.

"Look, I get it. Wellbeing of two-natured isn't your primary concern, but if this had nothing to do with me, you wouldn't have a problem with helping Alcide."

Eric's eyes turned stormy. "It _does_ have to do with you. If you read that Were, they'll know of your increased powers. You'll be exposed."

"I'll find a way to tell Alcide if there's something wrong," I said, with confidence. "Besides, isn't this part of our marriage? If our future shapes out the way you plan it to, there will be more favors, more meetings, more responsibilities… You know that. We both better start getting used to it now, while I'm not under scrutiny."

He studied my face for a long minute. "I'll think about it," he finally said. "That is if I even get the properly filled paperwork. Meanwhile…" he slid a finger under the strap of my bra, "what do we do with this?"

"_I _am taking it off. Then I'm taking a shower," playfully, I slapped his hand away. "Alone."

A mischievous grin I hadn't seen in a while appeared on his face. "Cruel woman."

"You're stuck with me, so deal with it."

He did. I ended up in the shower, not alone, and Eric demonstrated (not without a dose of smugness) once again how useful vampire speed and strength could be.

Val and I headed to Bon Temps shortly after. I was more comfortable with Eric staying alone at the Glass house before full dark, since Dermot had showed me how to spell wards against unwanted visitors. It had required a special Caelli incantation and taken a few drops of my blood, and because Eric's blood was part of me now, the ward's scope automatically included those who wished him harm as well. All and all, Dermot was very proud of my achievements, and so was the Viking. I, too, felt like I'd been doing very well. A perpetual failure in human school, I'd somehow become a dream pupil for both the vampire and the fairy. Go figure.

The work at the farmhouse was in full swing: insulation was being replaced, the copper piping was been installed, and the roof half-way dismantled. My family home was getting a new beginning.

Smells of frying oil, stale beer, and tobacco seemed stronger than ever to me when I walked into Merlotte's. With my senses enhanced, I could discern the specific heady scent of beef, a little bitter-sweet aroma of sour dough bread, and even a fresh hint of cilantro. The diner was filled with town folks, all familiar faces. I used to serve most of them in the past, countless times, but only few chose to acknowledge me with a smile and a "long time, no see".

Michele gave me a hug, "Holly and I are talking about the wedding. I'm planning to have mine in September, just like her and Hoyt. Isn't it exciting?"

I readily agreed it was, very much. There was a lot of happy talk; Jason and his buddies, Holly, Hoyt, and a couple of Michele's girlfriends joked, toasted and cheered for the engaged couple to kiss. I sipped my iced tea and mostly listened, grateful that I was still part of this life, no matter how unsuitable it had become for me.

"Looking good, Cher," Sam said, when he found a minute to join our small company. "Have you lost some weight?"

"Maybe, just a tad wee bit," I shrugged. "How's everything with you?"

"Same ol', same ol'."

"It's really busy here tonight," I cast a quick glance around. Almost every table and booth was occupied, and the new waitresses were bustling about like fully loaded mini-shuttles.

"Yeah, we've had no troubles lately. No zealots, only patrons," he chuckled. "Hate to say it, but that man's suicide seems to have been a turning point for the business."

"Well, at least something good came out of it," I said. Maybe, the death of Jimmy the V-addict was indeed a service to the society in ways only Eric could have foreseen. "I see Susan's doing great."

"She's really stepped up," Sam nodded, proudly, "Helping with the new girls and what not."

"Hey, have you, by any chance, met that new guy who wants to join Alcide's pack?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. I'm kind of trying to keep my distance from them."

We got to finish this conversation later in his office, without curious ears.

"We broke up," he said. "It was civil. No hard feelings. Jannalynn said she needed to focus on her job and new role as an enforcer, and I didn't stop her."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Sam."

"You never really liked her," Sam looked me in the eye.

I didn't waver. "I still don't, but that's irrelevant."

"She turned out to be the strong one. I was gonna end it myself, I was just dragging it out." He shrugged. "I'm a legitimate bachelor now. Not that it matters…"

There was a reason why Sam was explaining his personal life to me, and I had a fair idea what, or rather who, that reason might be. "You mean, to Valerie?" I hadn't picked any of this from her, though. "She doesn't know, does she?"

"No. She came for lunch over the weekend, and we talked a bit. Nothing serious, just a chat. She made it clear she can't have any distractions when she's on the job, and given _who_ her job is, I wouldn't want to distract her either."

"I appreciate that, Sam." Shit. "For what it's worth, no job lasts forever."

Inadvertently, I was affecting a wider circle of people: Pam, Claude, Dermot… and now Sam and Valerie, too. I only hoped that in the end, the sum of all sacrifices would be outweighed by the number of lives we'd be saving from Victor's wrath.

There was one more private discussion I needed to have before leaving. When Jason wasn't looking, Michele and I snuck out into the parking lot. I pulled a large envelope from the car.

"This isn't exactly an engagement gift," I said. "You can show this to Jason when you're ready to give him your other news."

"What's this?" she opened the envelope to glance at the documents for the trust fund for my nephew or niece. "Sookie, I can't!"

"Of course, you can. I don't know if I'll be there for your baby shower, so this is it."

"What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?"

I lightly rubbed her shoulder. "Maybe."

Her confused face suddenly changed, as if a troubling realization hit her. "I'm gonna hold on to this, Sookie," she said, with determination. "You'll tell Jason yourself, when whatever you're going through blows over."

I didn't tell her I was counting my blessings while I could.

_A/N Ch 14 is up on my blog, the link is on my ff net profile page. Feel free to visit, read, and review! Sneak Peek into Ch 15 is coming in a couple days. _


	10. Ch 6: Interim Quiet Part 2

_A/N Thanks for reads and follows. My apologies for not updating sooner. I'm still battling the cold (or flu, or whatever it is), and my daughter has been diagnosed with mild pneumonia. We started a course of antibiotics, and hopefully, that'll stop it. I'm also rushing chapter 15; my goal is to post by the end of the month, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed I'll actually be able to finish it as planned. _

**EPOV**

I do not like waiting; although, I am perfectly capable of it. At times, it seems that is all I do – wait. I wait for Ridley to arrive and for Pam to give me something, anything that would shed light on his abruptly changed plans and possibly mission. I wait for Alluni to set up the meeting with Russell Edgington. I wait for Vlad to call me with the travel date. When I rise, I wait for the sun to set. I wait for an opportune moment to bring Victor his final death. I wait for pieces to come together in pursuit of the truth about Sookie's X-factor. I wait for the fae remaining in this world to die, within weeks – according to Sookie's uncle – and thus extinguish the threat to my wife.

I wait. Think. Plan. Work.

Shortly before sunrise I receive word from Alluni; he provides me with Russell Edgington's private number, and I have a brief conversation with the king. I cannot stress enough our plans need adjusting and the diplomatic approach is no longer acceptable.

"I must confer with the rest, Northman. As I said to you before, the clan is inclined to see you in charge, but we still need the majority to approve this drastic deviation from the course of actions we agreed upon."

Fucking politics! They do not wish to unleash a major war, but delaying the inevitable will only complicate the situation. "The matter is pressing. We need to proceed with the second option and also move up the timeline with regards to the other candidate. He has no use for us any further. He is getting extremely dangerous."

"I hear you," he replies, with slight edge in his voice. "I'll do what I can."

That night, I learn about a new direction in Sookie's development, which presents yet another challenge. Dermot's information about the spirit of the Faery adds to specks of data I have accumulated in my research in the Archives. It seems fairies do have their own magic, after all, the same way vampires have the essence. It is governed by rules still unknown to me, but it appears one of the main conditions is that the spirit must flow freely to this world to sustain or feed fae sparks, connecting them like an invisible network. Take away the magic of Faery, and a spark exhibits the same symptoms as when it is locked inside the carrier, cut off from the rest of the network. The key here is isolation – it leads to death.

That Sookie possesses, or rather _is_ a source of this spirit somehow is a puzzle I do not have enough clues to solve at this time. Her shine remains golden; despite the fairy side growing rapidly in her, she has not gleamed once with a spare white light Dermot exudes; therefore, I conclude this spark-sustaining ability of hers is not rooted in fae magic. Does it have to do with the X-factor? Is it one in the same?

What I am absolutely certain about is that she needs more protection. Once I arrive to Fangtasia, I summon Garry and task him with obtaining the same kind of weapon Sookie fired in the desert. "Check with Pam," I instruct him, "She will put you in touch with a reliable source."

Thursday is far from boring, both with respect to my official and personal business. Pam has been unable to come up with any helpful information on Ridley's connections, whose arrival has been confirmed by the royal offices in New Orleans for tonight. He is late, however, and I use his tardiness to speedily prepare the weekly financial report to the New Orleans office and back up the documents accumulated over the week, filling an entire flash drive. I speak to Bill Compton and grant his travel request; he is expected to report on weekly basis. When he takes his sulking ass out of my office, Adam Winston, my jewelry procurer, delivers the rest of the items I ordered for Sookie. With vampire captiousness, I examine the pieces and deem them in compliance with my specifications. Senator Maloney texts me a short update: the marriage law has passed the first reading and has gone for the second reading in the Congress. I also receive Mehrab's report on The North Sea; we have lost another waiter this week. Sookie has asked if I needed her to fly to Miami for an audit, but I could not have her squander her precious time on presently inconsequential matters.

It is past midnight, when I feel my child approaching, followed by another unfamiliar, with conflicted patterns field, a shade darker than Pam. She knocks on the door, giving me a moment to clear my desk and turn important documents face down.

"Malcolm Ridley is here to see you, Sheriff," she announces the visitor.

At last, I am face to face with the infamous vampire. He is taller than my child, lean, fair-skinned; his short brown hair is brushed up away from a bold forehead, opening his delicate, yet stoic face and making his light brown eyes its dominant feature. He has a slightly prominent chin and a stern jaw line, indicative of a firm character and calm confidence. If I met Malcolm Ridley under different circumstances, I would have given him a solid chance to prove his worthiness by way of service. As it stands, I must consider every advantage in skills and talents this undead has as detrimental to me.

Ridley was turned at a young age, most likely in his early twenties. His light stubble seems darker against the complexion paler than acceptable, and immediately, I wonder when the last time was that he fed.

Ridley's formal attire is above reproach: navy pin-stripe suite sits well on his wide shoulders, and blue with yellow tie and black shoes scream new. His expression and manners are even more flawless. He has been schooled rather well at the court, I find.

"Sheriff Northman, it is an honor to be here," he says, tilting his head respectfully.

"Sit. Your travel has been well, I presume?" I accept a thick folder Ridley hands me before taking one of the guest chairs by my desk.

"Yes, thank you for asking."

I put the folder to the side and lean back into my chair. I shall spend due time reading his transfer documents; for the moment, however, I wish study the object of my additional worries in person.

I inquire when he arrived and where he is staying.

"This evening, Sheriff. Apologies for not presenting myself to you earlier. I have made arrangements for a house, and it was unprepared upon my arrival. I had to seek temporary accommodations at the Ritz-Carlton."

He explains himself readily, appearing humble toward his new superior, but who is his true master?

"Ridley, what do you think your assignment is about?" I ask.

He freezes for a moment, "I'm not sure I follow you."

I raise an eyebrow at that. This reminds me of a bad job interview. "How do you see yourself as a part of my team?" I wish to make him talk; more he talks, more information he will provide, better the chances he will let something slip through the cracks.

"My duties have been clearly defined by my orders, Sheriff," he points at the closed folder. "I am to provide you with executive support with the matters related to Area Five operations and its liaisons with the royal offices, as well as with every other task you may have for me that will give me an opportunity to identify the strengths of the management style in this territory and try to standardize them into more comprehensive approach applicable for other Areas."

That is one fucking long sentence, no less intricate than some I use in my reports for de Castro. They have prepared Ridley well, indeed.

"That will not be too difficult," I say. "You will spend a lot of time with Ms. Ravenscroft, my second-in-command. She knows everything about Area Five mechanics, which conform to the guidelines established by His Majesty."

"With all due respect, Sheriff, I am under direct orders to account to no one but you," he replies firmly. "And I am to stay here until the Nevada offices assess the results of my work as successful."

Well, a small progress already: he _is _here to follow _me_ around until they call him off.

"I have been informed you have a human companion who will be joining you," I change the topic from business to personal.

My statement ruffles his patters quite noticeably. Until this point in the conversation, the double layers have been indicative of his ambiguous agenda; however, now the agitation has disrupted the clearly defined structures. Whatever his fears and personal motives are, they go deeper than his current 'assignment' or his true political standing.

"Yes," he replies, pausing for a second. "Brittany Cain, her information is included with the rest of the paperwork."

"Very well. You are dismissed for now. Go back to the bar and have a drink. Look around. After the closing, the entire team will gather here, and you will have a chance to introduce yourself. Any questions?"

"No, Sheriff, not at this moment."

I tell Pam to take him to my booth; _watch him, _I add.

I dedicate the rest of my time to reading Ridley's transfer documents, paying extra attention to the human woman, Brittany Cain, whom Sookie befriended over the weekend. My wife is genuinely concerned for her well-being, and with good reason, I realize, as I read through the file. Ridley and Brittany are bonded with a basic bond; however, his treatment of her is much better than commonly accepted among my kind. If she is his weak spot, his insisting that she stays away from Nevada vampires and his determination to keep her by his side speak volumes of the danger she may be in, while separated from Ridley. Unfortunately, I find no indication of who this threat comes from.

The staff meeting is another opportunity to put Ridley in the position to talk. My people are apprehensive of him, and the Nevada undead are mostly surprised. When my newly appointed assistant finishes his short speech, I announce that his human will be under my formal protection from the moment she sets foot in Louisiana. It is one of the rules many sheriffs adhere to that those associated with their underlings are to be looked after, providing assurance against unwanted infringements from other vampires, particularly those who pass through their territory. The prudence of such code was proven decades ago, for humans who spend most of their time around vampires are at a greater risk to be claimed against their will and despite their bond, merely because they are easier targets. Discouraging such behavior of undead resulted in a lower number of disputes and punishments all around.

After the meeting, I take Pam with me to look at the prospective building for new Fangtasia, not far from our existing location. The inspection reveals the place to be suitable for my expansion plans. It is very spatial, with an easily accessible large parking area, and high occupancy limit. A knowledgeable, practical entrepreneur can turn this opportunity into a gold mine.

I ask Pam what she thinks, and she begins telling me her vision, the changes she would make to create a central stage, the bars, the lounge, VIP booths and such.

"You will see it through, then," I say.

"What?" she is startled.

"Fangtasia belongs to you, Pam, whether I am or not."

"No, Eric. Fangtasia _is_ you_. _You are the brand, you're what attracts all those people."

"Not any more. When the venue is finally changed, the last of the connection to my person will be ceased, and you'll take charge."

She is silent for a moment. "Is that why the DJ? The new marketing strategy?"

"My goal has been to distance myself from vermin, it is true; since then, though, my objectives have changed further. I wish you to carry on, if you agree. I'll make sure you will not be burdened with a business the success of which is tied solely to my name." The club is a solid investment, and once the transition to mostly human-oriented business model is complete, whether I am king or no more, my child will have her financial independence.

Friday night. I wait. I wait for the forces beyond my control to come together and fucking move!

When Sookie tells me of the limitation her spark-feeding spirit has, according to her uncle, I decide to push some other limits – vampire limits. This is the first time we shall attempt a prepared and thought-through exchange of powers. The experiment is interrupted by Pam.

"Are you in danger? Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You're making me want to fly, Eric. I don't understand!"

"Later."

But later does not quite work out; Pam's duties at the club keep her on the floor, and I postpone the conversation my Sookie has agreed I have with my child, for Ridley's annoying presence by my side is constant. In my office, I explain to him the financial reports I prepared last night. I have nothing to hide; on the contrary, I let him study every figure and supporting document attached.

"You make this entire routine seem very easy and descriptive," he says after a while. "I've only read the aggregated state-wide reports produced by the New Orleans office, but I can see from your work the other Louisiana and Arkansas sheriffs do not produce data as reliable as yours."

My methodology should keep Ridley busy for a night or two, then. Good.

The youngster asks for my permission to take tomorrow night off, as the house he has rented somewhere in Shreveport is finally ready, and he wishes to move in as soon as possible, as well as to make arrangements for his human. I gladly consent, as it turns out not without added benefit, for Saturday night brings a visitor to my club I rather not expose to Ridley just yet.

It begins with Sookie informing me of Alcide's request for a telepathic favor. That stupid mutt! I do not care for his pack's newest pup; what concerns me is my wife's willingness to step up to the role of the future Queen of vampires. These short, few weeks preceding the takeover are essentially a training and preparation period, during which not only her magic and latent skills are revealed and developed, but her knack at the politics and game of influence is practiced as well. I shall keep an open mind, review the documents Alcide is to provide and then make a fully informed decision, as I should.

A pleasurable shower and a very fulfilling and loud orgasm later, Sookie leaves to Bon Temps. The invitation for her brother's private celebration has been graciously extended to me; however, I have declined, for my presence will only make the evening awkward, and, more importantly, I need time to continue my research in the Archives. Once alone, I venture into the VL9 again. Systematically, I look for every piece of ancient history the Deadliest of the Deaths procured for the Order during a century of unquestioningly loyal service. I order the guide to bring up more screens around me, so I can run multiple searches simultaneously. Standing in the main portal of the Archives, I utilize as many tentacles of the darkness as I can. As I pull from the depths of my memory a detailed description or an image of each item, I send that specific recollection with my energy into the screens. I do not have time to marvel how fast my method proves to be or how explicit my commands are due to my growing powers. Instead, I sift through the results with even greater speed.

I find six other artefacts missing from the Archives. The Ancients must have been collecting these precious items for thousands of years, and I and my brothers were not the only ones under the contract with the Order. There were – still are – others like us, which means there have to be other relics procured and hidden. This conclusion leads me to believe that, if Sookie's importance is determined by her X-factor, the Ancients will not stop at anything to get to her. At the same time, if they wanted to rid of me and steal my bonded, they could have easily done so million times already. Instead, they have helped me. Perhaps, they need me, too, because of the high bond.

The last search I initiate is on a summon ritual of a poltern. I scan the text and memorize the drawings. A true poltern… that would be fascinating, and now that Sookie lives in the Glass house with me, the chances of homing such an entity are very high. I make a note to myself to discuss this matter with my wife, and finally exit the virtual library. Hmm. This device Vlad has developed is more than magical or remarkable. There are so many possibilities to be derived from this one simple black console! This is one of the topics I shall discuss with him in detail.

I fly to Fangtasia before opening hour. In the employee parking, I detect a sharp sense of a Were, and the trail leads inside. The pack's young female enforcer has delivered the proper paperwork from Alcide, and I have her wait in the bar while I read through the official letter and the forms attached. Venue: Alcide's residence in Shreveport. Duration: undetermined. Number of participants: five. I scan the short list of names; I know four from the time of the Witch war, with the exception of one Leland Buttons, the new Were.

The last document I review is a certified Statement of Obligation which declares Alcide Herveaux responsible with his life and assets for the safety of my bonded.

That is not good enough.

I tell Pam to get the young Were into my office.

"Are you the official representative of your packleader?" I ask.

"Yes, I am," she replies, thrusting her chin up.

Arrogant bitch.

"Put your initials here."

She looks at the Statement of Obligation I have altered.

"…with his life and assets, as well as those of every other member of the pack…" she reads my correction. "I cannot sign this."

"Then I shall not approve this request," I say, not without satisfaction.

She tries to intimidate me with her piercing gaze. I can easily glamour her into doing as I please; however, I wish for her to sweat a little.

"Let me call Alcide," she finally says.

"Of course. Check with your master," I smile at her, condescendingly. She cannot make a simple decision without him wiggling his tail in approval first; and they, who are tied to their packleader's will, dare to ridicule and disrespect bonds between vampires and their humans!

I notice my child's eyes sparkle with no less greater amusement as we witness the short conversation between Jannalynn and her master.

"He wants to talk to you," she gives me her cell phone.

"Eric, it's just paperwork," he says. "I'm doing this because Sookie insisted, but you and I both know asking me to hold my entire pack responsible for her is extreme. My personal guarantees are enough."

"I do not care for your personal guarantees. Your pack is more important to you than anything. I want _that _guarantee. I will not accept anything less."

"Dammit!"

"And Sookie's bodyguard will be with her at all times. You shall let her inspect the premises before Sookie enters and will give her full access to every corner of your house."

"You're unreasonable…"

"Take it or leave it."

His angry breathing is music to my ears. I do not need to push further to make him drop the issue entirely.

"Fine. Put Jannalynn on the phone. I'll have her sign for me."

This is unexpected. Why is it so important for Herveaux to have Sookie's seal of approval?

"Alcide," I say, slowly, so his brain has enough seconds to process my words, "You stated in writing there was no particular reason for your request other than a common precaution."

"Yes, that's correct."

"And just now you have staked the fate of your entire pack to get Sookie to read this man." Common precaution, my Viking ass! "Care to explain the contradiction before I rip your throat out?" I growl.

"There's no danger to Sookie," he replies, his haughtiness gone in an instant. "This man, Leland, his story an'all checks out, but when he's changing, his smell gets a bit weird. I suspect he's got a fraction of human blood. When I asked him, he said he didn't know what I was talking about. I think he lied. It could be nothing, but I need to be sure whatever it is, it's not gonna ruin the pack."

A Were with a fraction of human – weaker – blood does not stand a chance against four Weres, a shifter, and an armed woman with vampire-fast reactions. A part of me is still uncomfortable with this, but Sookie is right: there will be more requests such as this one in the future. We cannot refuse them all.

"Do you think he can be trusted?" Pam asks once the enforcer is gone, taking one set of the original documents with her.

"I think he told me the truth. And Sookie wants to do this." Apparently, she had Alcide file the paperwork if she were to consider his request. Nicely done, like a true ally of mine would have. She has not mentioned that particular detail to me, though.

"He's rather desperate. He knows Sookie can hardly read two-natured."

"There are a few things I wish to tell you."

I begin speaking to my child mentally, using our bond and, with my essence, I send her thoughts and images where words are ineffective. The process of communication appears to be the same as the one I tested in the VL9 with the search screens.

I explain fully to Pam the concept of the high bond and how Sookie's telepathy has grown and flourished, giving her the ability to hear two-natured, including shifters, almost as easily as she used to read humans. I add that she is more unique than anyone suspects, avoiding mentioning the X-factor or her fairy talents directly. With the Order somehow being connected to this, I deem it necessary to limit my child's exposure to both Sookie's mystery and my past.

Pam sits quietly, her eyes open wide, her fangs half-extended.

"Master," she whispers with reverence, once I am done. "Every time you speak to me… it's beyond everything I know."

"It is."

"And now, this… I could _see, _Erik. I could see what you wanted me to."

I admit to myself this is a new level of manipulating the essence for me. My powers have been growing as steadily as Sookie's. I wonder if I am capable of influencing other vampires with no blood ties to me. Perhaps, one night I will be able to transcend that imperative junction where dark magic fuses with blood…

"When you two were practicing the exchange of powers, I swear I felt _her,_" Pam continues, still stunned. "I felt her in my bond with you. How is that possible?"

"She is part of me. And so are you."

"Can _she _feel _me_?"

Interesting question. "I am not certain she can, Pam. This is new to her more than it is new to me. She needs time to understand how the essence truly works." I decide there have been enough revelations for one night. "Go now, child. You still have responsibilities in this establishment." The club will be open soon; she must ensure everything and everyone are in places, ready to serve.

She pauses by the door, her hand on the handle, "Out of thousands of women you've had, Erik, you have managed to find the most unusual one."

She is wrong, however, for Sookie found me. Since my amnesia, I've had no other in my bed: bodies, suitable for feeding, but not for quenching my thirst for the one I could not have. Soon after, I lost the taste for their blood as well, as if the need for my lover left me empty of desire, barren in a way. I kept my lack of interest well hidden, but after a while my child recognized the symptoms of sexual frustration, combined with painful longing, misdirected anger, wounded pride, and denial I suffered with for months. If anyone were to tell me one night a high bond would make me and the woman who defied me one, I would have killed the joker with my bare hands.

Upon my return home, I find Sookie asleep, and I let her rest. I put the Were's paperwork on her nightstand, with a short note, and leave a detailed voice message for Raven for the day. I work from home, making a few phone calls and looking through our personal financials, including the special account I set for the farmhouse renovations. When Taylor Price sent me the estimates, I went over them with Sookie, suggesting three shifts to work round the clock, as I had with the Glass house. She was uncomfortable at first, saying she did not want to go overboard, with labor accounting for over sixty-five percent of the budget. But what is our wealth for, if not for a project like this? Was it not her intention to make the house light-proof, so it would be my home, too? My words appeased her, and we did not argue over this. I truly wish to spend time with my wife in the house that carries so many memories of the new beginning in my undeath, and to me, whatever time we think we have is much more valuable than the most astronomical sum of money. I have noticed it is difficult for Sookie to plan more than a few weeks ahead, and I understand her reservations. Uncertainty looms on the horizon, obscuring the future, albeit making the present all that clearer and the priorities as obvious as ever. Despite the danger, I do not impose control on her, forcing her to stay in the Glass house, as if it is a prison of our own making.

My contemplations are interrupted by Alluni's phone call; at last, the meeting with the allies is set, and the wheels of undead political machine are turning, slower than I would wish them to, but surely.

I wrap myself around my woman's warm body and wait for the sun to rise, eager to open my eyes again, to share my news and learn about her day. She is not in our chamber, though, but close, somewhere in the house. I make sure the windows are set in full dark mode and go to her.

Sookie is curled up on a sofa in the entertainment area on the ground floor. She is looking at some old photos, and I recognize the faces of her human family members, all long gone.

Greeting my lover, I run my fingers through her wet hair she let down. The dragon robe on her back has absorbed some of the moisture, turning cold and clinging to her skin.

"What are you doing up here, alone?" I ask, sitting down.

She is strangely calm, almost numb. A mix of bitterness, regret and sorrow, that omnipresent sorrow I detect on a rear occasion from her, marks the bond, leaving it unsettled. Is her state caused by the memories the photos bring about?

She shows me a picture of her grandparents; it is the same photo she had the night I arrived to the farmhouse to pick her up for the date.

"She's happy," Sookie says, staring at me with unseeing eyes. Something is wrong. "I couldn't figure out how, or why. She's pregnant with Fintan's baby, but look at them both – a picture of peace. For months, I've been asking myself how she lived with herself. You know, I never made an effort to read her mind?"

"Sookie, what happened?"

"My grandpa was a simple man, Eric, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he'd been sick, he knew couldn't have fathered my dad and my aunt. What if he'd known about the affair all along, but let my Grandma have the children she'd wanted so much, because he couldn't give her what she desperately yearned for?"

I am unable to comprehend the reasons for this sudden excursion into the past. "What are you talking about, Sookie?" What prompted this mood of hers that stirs my need to protect my bonded, awaking the beast in me?

"I think I finally know what happened all those years ago. Fintan saw her and wanted her; he used magic to attract her, which wasn't all that difficult, since he was fairy, but my Gran… she gave him sex in exchange for children. She liked him, too, so it made it easier for her. She wanted a family, a normal life. Get it?" she shakes her head. "A normal life for herself and for Grandpa. She cheated on him to make them both happy. And he let her. They never talked about it, and it was the guilt she was hiding from me for the rest of her life."

She reaches out to collect the photos spread around her on the sofa, and the sleeve of the robe hitches up, exposing her skin. Red. Irritated. I grab her by the wrist and pull the silk farther up. Fuck! Lemons? Iron? "What the hell happened to you?!"

"For Christ's sake, Eric!" she yanks her hand back and rubs the wrist, wincing. "What didn't happen? Valerie shifted into a Shishi lion; Leland Buttons is not a Were or even human; Niall popped in for a chat, in this very room, all the way from Faery, and other than that," she smiles wryly at me, "magic happened. Damned magic."


	11. Ch 7: Into the Abyss P 1

_A/N Thanks all those who read, reviewed, and followed the story here and at the blog. _

_I have not started Ch 16 yet, but it's all in my head. Hopefully, by the end of this week, I'll be in a better shape to start writing again. _

**Ch 7: Into the Abyss**

Artwork: Betrayal by Trystanus

**SPOV**

Alcide Herveaux lived in a very nice area of Shreveport, not far from Eric's old place, in a large two-story brick home he'd moved in after his dad had passed away. I parked a few houses down the street from the estate and glanced at the dashboard.

Three o'clock.

"Can you hear if they're all in?" Valerie asked.

If she were to ask me something similar before my trip to Vegas, I'd have an answer ready for her like a warm cookie on a plate. Now, because I hadn't gotten anywhere near learning how to limit the zone of coverage, I had to suck it up, lose the shields, and listen to every mind in a one-mile radius in order to locate a small group of four Weres. Once I 'pinpointed' Alcide and his people, I'd be able to block everyone out and focus on reading two or three Weres at a time, like I'd done in Vegas. The only silver lining was that now two-natured were almost easy for me to read as humans.

I crossed my fingers that no voices would sing or claim my telepathic butt, and dropped the mental blinders. The boom and clatter bubbled in my head and began quickly growing like a balloon, ready to burst any moment. As it swelled in a matter of a couple of seconds, it greedily sucked in more transmissions and images, throwing me off. There was a wild party in one of the houses between the spot I was parked in and Alcide's home. Teenagers getting drunk, high, and horny – ugh! Come on, people! It's only three in the afternoon!

I shut my eyes, fighting the nausea and the reflexive fear of drowning. Really, Sookie, compared to the insane intensity of the mental flood in Vegas, this is nothing. Piece of pie!

The sickening wave passed once I sort of directed all that half-drunk mumbo-jumbo to flow past me. Immediately the sea of thoughts smoothed out, and then two red snarly knots resurfaced. Bingo!

I said, "Only Alcide and Jannalynn the enforcer so far."

Valerie was staring at my hands gripping the steering wheel like my life depended on it. "Is it hard for you to read them?" Her careful inquiry was laced with a well hidden curiosity.

"It depends." That was true. "Physical contact helps, and also when a person thinks directly at me. Weres and shifters are more difficult to read than humans, and I can't hear vampires at all."

"Remind me to never play scrabble with you."

"Don't worry, I don't cheat."

She quietly snorted, "Yeah, but how boring is that?"

That's certainly one way to put it. "Ever tried playing cards with yourself?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

After a moment of silence, she switched back to business. "Let's wait a little longer."

I turned the radio off and sat back. I withheld some dramatic details of my current reconnoitering, because Raven didn't really need to know the true extend of my ability. (How fairy-ish of me _not _to answer a direct question, ha-ha.) Once more, I grasped at Alcide's busy red tangles and pulled on few 'strands', unwinding the knot. He was agitated, trying to think many things at the same time. Then there was Jannalynn's broadcast, featuring a particular Were with short black hair and piercing green eyes. (Surprise, surprise.) Yeah, the gal knew how to concentrate. I muffled her before I'd figure out if she was only daydreaming or reliving a true moment of passion. I didn't really give a poop if the latter had actually occurred, and if so, whether it had been before or after she had broken up with Sam. I only cared he didn't have to know about any of it, not now, not ever.

"What do you hear now?" Valerie asked again.

I hmmed under my nose, streaming live. "Fletcher has just got in," I said as Alcide's perspective shifted, observing a tall Were who's name and age (early forties) I knew from the paperwork Eric had left for me.

"That's three out of four."

"This Leland person better have a good excuse for being late, 'cause it's getting on Alcide's nerve," I said. An irritated Were was something I didn't want to deal with, on top of everything else.

Our plan had been to let all four, including Leland Buttons, gather up first; I would do my telepathy thing and check them out; then we would go in, and Valerie would do her bodyguard thing. But it was already past the agreed time, and the newbie Were wasn't anywhere on the horizon yet. I didn't have all day to sit around in the car, waiting for his furry ass to show up.

"Let's move. You ready?"

Valerie nodded her 'yes', and I pushed the start button, feeling a bit nervous. My last visit to the Herveaux house had become memorable for many reasons I'd rather not remember.

I almost expected Jannalynn to swing the door open, wearing something sporty and tight that would emphasize her fit physique and concave lines, but she managed to startle me once again. A long tee-shirt with "We Have Fangs, But We Don't Suck" caption across the chest served as a dress and a banner at once, showing off her well sculpted legs a few inches short of her yahoo palace. She had very tastefully coupled the outfit with red high-heel sandals and a red bra anyone could easily see through the white fabric of the tee.

I said hi and just strolled right in, and she stepped back, letting us through without a word.

"Jannalynn, wait with Fletch," Alcide said briskly, appearing in the hall. The young Werewoman frowned and scooted away.

"This is Valerie Swift," I said, "Eric told you about her."

"Yes, the bodyguard. I heard a lot about you." Alcide sized her up and down, in his head assessing how deserved Raven's reputation was. He remained skeptical. "We're waiting for Leland. He had a car trouble on his way here, and I just sent Culpepper to pick him up. They'll be here in ten-fifteen minutes."

"Is this Culpepper going to join us for the meeting?" Valerie asked, in a cool voice. She didn't like Alcide's changing the plans.

"Yes," he gave her a stern look, daring to question his authority.

"I know Culpepper. She's okay," I told Valerie, interrupting what seemed to be becoming a glaring competition. "You go ahead, and I'm gonna talk to Alcide for a minute."

Alcide showed her to the living room and pointed to the stairs up to the second floor. "Feel free to check inside and outside the house, too," he said. "All doors are open."

"Why didn't you tell me you suspected Leland wasn't a pure Were?" I asked without preamble.

Before he'd answer, he closed the double doors to the living room and turned back to me. "I didn't want to influence your opinion."

We weren't in the stables, but it smelled manure. He thought he couldn't trust me like he used to. His logic was lost on me; however, I let it slide: it was his problem, not mine; and besides, the feeling was quite mutual.

"He's able to fully shift. How's that possible?" I asked instead.

He shrugged his massive shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. I had to admit he looked good in a pale green and yellow plaid shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms. Alcide wears his jeans not as tight as Eric usually does, but that just leaves more for imagination to recompense.

"I can only say it's not impossible, but extremely rare for someone to carry that tiny bit of human blood through generations," he replied. "If he knew about it and lied, I want to know why."

"Okay. I'll help you with that."

Alcide bored his eyes into mine, "I know I said no drugs, but…" …_justgota newstash…_

"Out of question," I cut him off, allowing some indignation color my tone. "And let's not start with the morals. I don't see anyone's life being on the line if I don't get a clear read."

"I never got the chance to thank you for that night," he said, keeping his eyes unwavering on mine. "Annabelle lived, but Ham and Patricia had to take full responsibility."

Annabelle Banister, Alcide's ex-girlfriend, had cheated on him with Basim al Saud, who'd been cast out of the Houston pack for killing a friend of the pack while in his wolf form. Alcide had taken him in and made him the Long Tooth pack's enforcer instead of Hamilton Bond, his long-time friend he'd grown up with. Ham had been in cahoots with government guys to gather some dirt against Weres that would help the congress pass that dreaded law to force all two-natured to register like aliens. Ham had killed Basim, who in turn had been in cahoots with Colman to frame me for murder, buried Basim's body on my property and called cops on me. He'd done all of that mostly because of the money the fairy had promised in exchange for setting me up and because he'd been upset Alcide hadn't picked him as his second. Patricia Crimmins had originally joined the Long Tooth pack in surrender after the Were war. She had helped Ham, because she couldn't forgive her sister's dying in that war and because she'd had designs on Alcide, who'd chosen Annabelle instead. That hadn't gotten in her way to screw Ham along the way, though.

The twisted plot would make an excellent soap opera, except for a Were drama is as bloody as vampire drama; sometimes even more vicious. With my help, Alcide had sorted this mess through, sparing Annabelle's life by throwing Ham and Patricia at the mercy of the pack. Their death had been…

I waved my hands in front of me, "I don't need to know the details. Your pack, your rules."

"And you went along with them," he retorted, with a challenge. Was he bitter? Sarcastic? Or was he trying to lay a guilt trip on me?

I shrugged his comment off. Victor had tried the same trick on me in Vegas. And every trick works only once. My hands and conscience were clear.

"Nice poster, by the way," I said, unfazed. "'We have fangs, but we don't suck'?"

"I'm not a fashion police… but Jannalynn will be warned," he rumbled. Offending Sookie Stackhouse was one thing; stepping on Mrs. Northman's toes was another.

"I don't care about Jannalynn's views of my personal life, Alcide," I huffed. "What I'm concerned with is if that's how the rest of you guys feel. I mean you bicker and squabble, vamps and weres, but I just don't see how pointing fingers at each other will help you win the popularity contest with humans." I'd always thought supes stuck together against regular folks, even though sometimes they hated each other's guts.

"Most of us would agree with you," Alcide answered. "There's really no need to antagonize people against vamps; there could be a backlash, and that would ruin everything."

"Ruin what?"

"Our unofficial representatives in the state congress have been getting some hints about things slowly turning around. You've heard about that prick that blew his brains off on the Internet? The local press just won't let the subject drop, and it's actually working in our favor. Oneys have to clean their house first before attacking us."

"Oney" was a term two-natured used with regard to those who didn't shift, the same way vampires used "Breather" or even more demeaning "Bloodbag".

"You lost some weight, but you look good, by the way," Alcide's face suddenly warmed up. He took in my Diesels and a simple sky-blue blouse, lingering for a moment on the Sunset peeking out of the unbuttoned band collar. "How you've been?"

Well, hello to you, too. "I'm great, all things considered."

"So, you finally moved?"

"Yeah."

_You happy with that cold ass? _he thought straight at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Watch it, buddy. You know what they say about leading by example."

He patted me on the shoulder, "You haven't changed that much. Still feisty as hell."

His hand lingered. He felt very, very warm, hot even.

I wasn't sure I liked it.

Despite all the aggression and stubbornness I'd witnessed over the years Weres were capable of, there had been a time I'd seriously considered I could have a normal life with Alcide. He, too, had entertained that possibility for a while. Of course, those hopes had blown out the window after I shot Debbie Pelt. Maybe, even before – when I'd found Eric running to my house, nearly bare, in freezing cold. But as I reflected on the past and how things had worked out for Alcide, being a packmaster an'all, I realized a day would have come when he, too, might have to make a choice between his ascending statute and the pack and me. Would he be ready and willing to sacrifice his all for me, the way Eric was?

Would I?

"What did you expect?" I lightly shrugged from under his heavy hold, "that marrying Eric would automatically make me forget what or who I am?" Why was it so hard for Alcide to give me some credit?

"I dunno," he took his hand back. "Being pledged to a vampire sheriff isn't something to be taken lightly, especially to one cold… to one like Eric."

"Some things don't have to change, Alcide. Like the fact you can always call me, and I'll do my best to help you out, but we've got to do it the right way."

He slowly nodded, "If it's so important, I'll do it, because it's for _you_. You're still a friend of the pack. Your affiliations won't change our obligation to look after you."

I suppressed a sigh. I respected the Weres' rules, and I expected the same in return, even if for some of the pack members I'd always be a vamp humper. But recently, _my_ rules had undergone re-evaluation: my safety was now synonymous to Eric's. I sort of had a baggage of my own, and if the pack couldn't accept it, well… The truth was I'd pick Eric's side over Alcide's every day of the week and twice on Sunday, and I didn't feel guilty about it.

Valerie opened the door a crack, "All clear."

In the daylight, the living room looked as "men's club" as it did at night. The dark polished paneling and leather gleamed slightly, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the large French doors on the other side of the room.

Beware of iron, I reminded myself, glancing at all the wrought iron furniture set around on the flagstones out in the large back yard. The three-tier fountain was running, and the quickly-growing cypresses along the high fence appeared to have shot up a few inches in just a couple of months.

Jannalynn and Fletcher were standing by the bar, each one with a can of soda in their hands. Alcide quickly introduced Valerie. A weak splash of lust came from Fletcher, a dark-haired, grim Were with eyes that were lodged too close to the nose bridge. Jannalynn kept her features schooled.

I scooped her, out of curiosity. She suspected Sam was interested in Val; she was also jealous Alcide and I had just spent few minutes behind closed doors, alone. That Alcide wasn't sleeping with her didn't change her opinion that I was encroaching upon her territory. I learned that after Annabelle had been punished and cast aside for infidelity, Alcide had had a fling with a human chick – a short rebound – but now he was free. Jannalynn had decided to seize the chance and break up with Sam to go after her dream man, er… wolf.

The way she'd painted him in her mind was lacking only one detail – halo. The night of the judging, I had a unique opportunity to see how the system of a Were pack really operates. The leader is literally a center of their universe, a planet, and all others are drawn to him, circling around him like satellites. High on the shaman potion, I'd been perceiving emotions of the Weres in different colors, from all kinds of shades of red, violet and pink signifying the varying degrees of their devotion, to green of betrayal. Jannalynn's bright crimson had given away her fierce adoration and attachment to Alcide, stronger than those of anyone else among the present had possessed. No wonder Mr. Merlotte found himself kicked to the curb. It was rather a surprise the two of them had lasted however long, but I could understand the attraction she'd held for Sam_: _this young woman had an air of untamed, ferocious savagery about her, which was making her both alluring and dangerous to men, sort of like a poisonous sticky paper for flies.

Jannalynn had also showed her other true colors that night, demanding for a kill. Her narrow face, with eyes burning with animalistic rage, wasn't a face plain humans should ever see, 'cause their every prejudice against two-natured would have a real face to go with. Trust me, 'bloodthirsty' isn't an epithet used solely to describe the undead citizens of our great country.

Alcide told me and Valerie to make ourselves at home and excused himself to answer a phone call. Jannalynn pointed at a deer head on a plaque mounted over a huge fireplace. The antlers were impressive.

"It's the one we killed in your woods," she commented.

Ah. "Nice rack. Just the way Alcide likes it," I said.

Jannalynn blanched.

"Fletcher, it's nice to meet you," I shook his hand.

He was a no-nonsense man: work, the pack, and beer. He thought Leland Buttons was an arrogant mutt and didn't deserve to run with the pack. He hoped I'd find something that would make Alcide reject Leland's pledge. An image of a very handsome young man with strange tawny eyes and longish dark hair came to the forefront of his mind.

Déjà vu.

"Call me Fletch," he said.

I gave him a mild version of my fake grin. My nervousness returned. My instincts rebelled against the cozy atmosphere of this big room.

I heard the doorbell at the front and Alcide's deep voice. Culpepper came in to join our little group. She hadn't changed much since I last saw her the night of the Witch war. She was a lovely young Werewoman in her early thirties, a fearless fighter. She still wore her dark hair as short and simple as I recalled.

"Sookie, it's so nice to see you again," she greeted me with a hearty smile. It turned out to be the last hearty thing I would see for the rest of that fine Sunday.

Her arrival meant we were finally about to begin. The moods changed palpably; everyone got quiet. I turned a little to keep the entrance to the living room in my direct sight. I listened.

Alcide's thoughts were noticeably agitated. As his large, tall frame filled the doorway, my attention focused on the man following him, hidden behind the packmaster's broad back.

A shining white wall was protecting the man's thoughts, and I made an effort and pushed in.

My mouth went dry.

I heard Caelli. I saw gray-blue skies. I felt cold wind on my skin. Not of my world. Not of human world.

A few more steps… No, this wasn't déjà vu. I knew this man. I knew him. But how?…

Alcide's voice sounded distant, "Leland, this is Sookie Stackhouse. She's a friend of the pack. She'll ask you a few…"

The moment Leland Buttons spotted me, he froze in his tracks. Immediately, his mental pattern changed to a Were-like one, but smoother somehow, thicker.

Too late.

_To be continued…_


	12. Ch 7: Into the Abyss P 2

**Ch 7: Into the Abyss Part 2**

**SPOV  
**

A small part of me noticed the Weres forming a ring around us, and Valerie coming closer to my side, as if preparing to jump in front of me.

Shit.

I crossed to Leland and held my hand out. His handsome face contorted. His huge tawny eyes latched on mine with intensity that sent chills down my spine. A burst of panic told me he knew me, too, and he didn't expect to see me here today.

"Give me your hand," I demanded.

Leland looked at suddenly unfriendly faces of the men and women surrounding us. Someone growled. Cornered, the man complied, and I grabbed his trembling hand and involuntarily squeezed.

_It was Christmas Eve. You were alone… lonely…_

A mental shockwave hit me. The cold wet woods. A naked, bleeding form, lying in the dirt… Do you need help?… Bluish skin cold to my touch… A surge of lust. Are you a Were?… _"My family is gifted"_… A kiss that took the last of my breath and brains away… _"Pretend you have mistletoe."_ Stranger's body, long night… My dreamy face, through his eyes… Niall's voice, harsh, in Caelli, "… It's an order …" My face again, glowing with weak golden shimmer… My Benelli. Bright sunlight. The meadow. The name.

Preston. Preston Pardloe.

"You're not a Were," I only said. I had nothing to add to that – nothing that would express the depth of the abyss I was falling into.

Suddenly, I couldn't get away from him far enough, fast enough. He jerked his hand out of my grip. Valerie stepped before me and pushed me further back, behind a couch. The air got tentative, hyper, and dense. I knew what it meant: she was getting ready to change at any moment.

Then Preston made a mistake. He bolted towards the doors, and Jannalynn and Fletch lunged at him, and he went down on his face. Jannalynn locked his ankle and was trying to pull him closer and under her. Fletch had him by his belt and was crawling up his body. Preston pushed away from the floor with both hands and rolled over, kicking Jannalynn square in the jaw with the heel of his free booted foot. She yelped and let his shin go. Fletch suddenly found himself under his opponent, and he wrapped his arms around Preston's torso, trying to hold him down. Culpepper was already on top of the fairy, but he was quick, very quick, and strong. He punched her in the face – we heard a bone crack – and her eyes rolled into her head. She fell on the side. Preston threw his head back, smashing Fletch's nose, and jabbed him with an elbow under the ribs. Fletch cursed and started changing, fur rippling down from his shoulders, but Preston's transformation was faster and smoother than any I'd ever observed. Fletch's fingers hadn't clawed yet, when the quasi-Were lost his human appearance, and a snake coiled up on the real Were's chest. With a speed of lighting, it bit the still changing wolf in the armpit and sneaked towards the patio doors.

Mid-shift, Alcide realized he had a better chance to catch the son of a bitch with human hands than with wolf teeth. He darted towards the serpent that was rapidly streaming at least five feet of its seemingly boneless body, and instantly it changed its direction towards the fireplace. Jannalynn scrambled up, slightly shaking, and began flunking the snake from the other side. Fletch remained on the floor, groaning.

"We've got to get out of here," Valerie was shoving me towards the exit.

"They'll kill him. I _need_ him alive." Why in the hell wasn't he just poofing away?

The snake was half-way behind the metal grid that was separating the fireplace from the rest of the room. What was he going to do? Turn into a roach or something and crawl out through the chimney?

Culpepper came out of nowhere with a baseball bat in her hands. She brought it down on the live pipe that was the snake's mid-section. She missed by a fraction of an inch, cracking the wood into splints, but Jannalynn and Alcide managed to grasp the sinuous body and began yanking – it? him? – back out of the fireplace.

Unfortunately, it was too soon to celebrate the victory. Another transformation, and a roar filled the room and shook the glass in the windows.

The human grip was suddenly too small and inadequate to hold down a huge grizzly bear.

"Can't you stop him?" I asked Valerie. I was a wretched, wretched person.

"Stay back," she advised.

The fairy-bear shrugged the Weres off with such a force he flung Culpepper and Jannalynn few feet away. Alcide hung in there, changing. His claws replaced his nails, piercing through the thick coat.

I listened to Valerie. I wasn't suicidal.

She altered almost as swiftly as Preston. A creature I only saw as a miniature jade statue was right in front of me, a strong tail pumping up and down, hitting the floor, muscular back legs bent in knees, the massive, wide back curved and a square muzzle lowered down to the front paws, in preparation for an attack.

A Shishi lion. Oh. My. God. Fuck a zombie.

Meanwhile, the fairy-bear brutally lashed out at Alcide, who was already in his wolf form. The wolf howled in rage and pain. Culpepper gathered herself up and jumped again, shifting in the air. She would have landed on the bear's back, but he whirled around and caught her in a deadly embrace. I saw him squeeze her as Alcide struck again, this time from behind, and Jannalynn clawed at him ferociously. Only now I realized why she couldn't bite: her lower jaw hung at what appeared a very painful angle.

The small wolf in the grizzly's stranglehold clipped her teeth emptily with a metallic clank, once, hair shy from the bear's glistening nose, and went limp. The fu dog leaped over the couch and on top of the hill of bodies. The bear dropped his victim to meet the new enemy heads on, but lost a split second when Jannalynn finally got through the thick fur and ripped a red chunk out.

I knew how hurtful that could be, but he seemed not to have noticed.

The Shishi lion was larger and heavier than the bear. She descended at him like a ton of bricks, and he toppled over, nearly crushing Alcide under the double weight. The grizzly tried to grip the fu dog and curved into himself, bringing his back legs up to rip her gut open with the claws of his back paws, even as Jannalynn was still attached to one of his legs.

"Alcide!" I yelled.

The large wolf pounced at the bear, plunging his teeth into the other leg. The wild mass rolled, smashing everything in its way, and all I could make out were paws, claws, tails, and brown, gray, and yellow fur flying around in the air.

This was turning into mayhem. Growls, yelps, sounds of glass breaking and leather tearing were signs someone was going to die. Already, Fletch and Culpepper were out, if only still breathing.

I had my gun, but I couldn't shoot: they all were an angry, bloody tangle. I gulped, kicked my shoes off and picked up the bat. I made a wide circle around the fighting animals, closing up to find a spot.

The bear suddenly emerged on top of the pile. There was no time to say a prayer. I swung and hit with all my might, aiming at the patch of the brown. He roared and spared a paw to try and hook me. I swayed to the side and took another swing, and this time he saw it coming and swatted the bat away, out my hands. Defenseless, I stumbled backwards, banging into a wall.

My actions distracted him long enough for the wolves to go for a kill. I couldn't let that happen. The Shishi lion now had to subdue the bear _and _keep the Weres from slaughtering the fairy. I flung myself over at Alcide, who was closest to me. I hugged the hot body, trying to lock my ankles under the shuddering belly, and with my left, I clutched a handful of wool.

This was nothing like riding a mechanical bull.

Sorry, I thought as grabbed Alcide's ear and pulled it. "Stop!" I yelled again. He didn't listen, of course, instead trying to shake me off like a bag of bones.

I twined myself around him with arms and legs, not letting go. In a last crazy attempt to prevent the unfixable, I concentrated on all the magic I had, fairy, X-factor, dark energy, all of it. It was my only opportunity, and I didn't hold back. A familiar zing rolled through me down to my toes. I pulled on that sensation and sent the charge through my palms into the wolf's raging body. It had worked with Eric ever since our first date; I'd thought it was only because of the high bond, but what if?… What if it wasn't just the bond? What if it was _me_?

I kept repeating in my mind, _stop, stop, Valerie will handle him, stop, stop, you're hurting her, stop, stop…_

I felt something opening up inside me, some unknown source, and it scared me more than playing baseball with Preston. The single charge turned into another, and another, and then became a current. I opened my eyes to see my hands glowing with the golden dust, pulsing and flowing into the straddled animal.

"Stop, please, stop," I whispered. I was getting dizzy.

This time, he listened. He came to a halt, letting me slide down on the floor. Somehow, Jannalynn followed her leader and retreated, too.

"Help Culpepper," I heaved. Her body, changed back into its human form, was lying like a rag by the tipped couch. From her brain patterns I discerned she was barely alive. "And Fletch needs to get to a hospital. Rattlesnake venom."

The lion and bear were still fighting. The first time Raven met Preston, he'd been in a deer form; he'd escaped before the sparring ended, but watching them now, it wasn't hard to imagine who'd win.

He was already weak, however, having only one opponent left somewhat leveled the playing field; plus, while he was trying to kill her, she was trying not to. They broke through the French doors and began destroying the patio.

I scurried outside, jumping over pieces of broken furniture and shards of glass. If I cut myself I didn't feel a sting.

"Preston, _her riqeh!_" I called out in Caelli. "Enough! _Her riqeh!_ There's nowhere to run! I know about the ancient spirit! Stop, it's not too late for you!"

The Shishi lion slowed the mad tempo of the death dance, reading some signs comprehendible only by two-natured. The bear didn't strike again; he collapsed on his side and laid his head on the ground in defeat. His coat was shaggy and bloody. The next second, he started shrinking, the hairs disappeared, replace by ragged flesh. Anxiously, I ran my eyes over my bodyguard. She was covered with blood.

"Val, you okay?" I couldn't help but ask. By stupidity, it was the highest ranking question of all times.

She answered with a muffled growl.

"I hope it's a 'yes'", I mumbled. A bead of sweat rolled down my face, and I automatically wiped it off.

It wasn't sweat.

I left Valerie watch over Preston and I ran back inside. Alcide was on the phone, crouching by Culpepper's limp body; Jannalynn was helping Fletch up; he was pale, swaying on his feet.

"I called for help," Alcide said, "but we can't take her to a hospital."

How'd we explain what had happened?

I rushed over to the bar to find my bag.

"Who're you calling?"

"Dr. Ludwig," I hit the dial button.

The healer listened carefully to my breathless explanation. "Don't move the woman. I'm sending my head nurse out there right now. Get the bitten one to a nearest hospital. It appears he's one of those extremely rare cases that are highly susceptible to the hemotoxic venom."

I smacked my forehead with a palm of my hand. "We've got an RN here; can you tell her what to do?" I grabbed the bat and hurried outside to get Valerie. She was still a huge fu dog, licking her wounds and cleaning her paws. Preston was lying on the stone ground, groaning.

"Val, we need you."

There wasn't much I could do at this point, but to guard Preston. I checked his wounds; he was in a pretty bad shape and needed medical attention. I found what used to be the banner tee-shirt, and tearing it into stripes, tightly dressed those of his injuries that were bleeding the most. Then, waiting for Dr. Ludwig's team, I sagged down into a chair. My spark gave a signal of danger, and I shot off my seat. Darned iron! Darned fairies! Fucking hell! I lowered myself on the ground a few feet away from the man.

"If you even think about running away, I swear I'll crack your head open," I warned him.

"I won't." He coughed. "Sookie, I…"

A million questions hung on my tongue. "Shut up."

He did, at least audibly. But there was no stopping his chaotic mind that was dipping into were patterns and then back to his usual fae broadcast. He was in and out, losing the grip on reality, flooding me with chunked memories and thoughts, part in English, part in Caelli, and try as I might, I couldn't stop listening, although his pain tainted every shred of information I was getting from him.

Through the now smashed patio doors, I saw the paramedics taking Culpepper away on a gurney. Two men carried Fletch out; his feet dragged helplessly as they all but hauled him, slinging his weak arms over their shoulders. More Weres arrived, bringing toolboxes, ropes, and other odds and ends, apparently to start the cleanup.

Alcide and few others finally came outside. Betty, a short, dark-haired woman with square upper body knelt beside the fairy and checked his vitals with precision that comes after years of practice.

"We should take him to the hospital," she said, as Preston grunted while she examined him.

"He's not going anywhere," Alcide curtly replied. "Patch him up however well you can."

"Then you take full responsibility for him," she met his eyes, with no trace of being intimidated.

"I do."

When she'd finished tending to the nastiest wounds, two Weres bound Preston's wrists and ankles. His mind went blank as they lifted him off the ground.

"I gave him a shot. He'll sleep for a few hours without pain," Betty said. "That way the nature will take its course, and maybe he'll recover. Unless you change your mind about hospitalizing him."

"I believe you _do_ owe me an explanation," Alcide said, angrily, once he'd ordered everyone to leave us alone. "Who the fuck is he? Why'd you jump into the fight? To save him? What if you got killed?"

"He's name's Preston. He's a fairy."

"Fairy…" His face darkened.

"I only became certain what he was after I touched him."

"You know him? 'Cause he sure as hell looked like he knew you."

I shook my head. "I'm not sure, Alcide," I lied.

"Why didn't he just pop out of here?"

"That's one of the things I'll try to find out. Call me as soon as he awakes."

"You wanna come back? And drag your vamp along with you?"

Really? Was _this _the right time to pick a bone with me? "Maybe." I'd have to tell Eric… Jesus Christ.

"I've already put you through enough," Alcide said, more with determination than sincerity. "I'll carry on from here. He's my responsibility now. And you can tell Eric we fulfilled out part of the bargain to protect you… at any cost," he added.

That stung.

"Hey, don't you go around and blame this on me! Preston wasn't trying to attack me! He was trying to escape. You should thank Valerie for interfering and saving all of our asses!"

He glared at me for another moment, and then his shoulders slouched down a little. I regretted my outburst immediately.

"You're right," he answered, bitterly. "I wanted to have the upper hand, the effect of the surprise. I didn't tell him why I called for the meeting. If I did, none of this would've happened."

Shit, shit, shit! "This isn't your fault, either. How could any of us know?"

"Culpepper is critical," Alcide spoke slowly. "She has a spine injury. If she dies, Leland, or Preston – whatever his name is – won't see tomorrow."

He won't see tomorrow one way or the other, I thought. The pack would claim his life like nobody's business, but not before I got my hands on him.

"A few hours won't make a difference for you," I pressed. "Don't you want to know why he tried to trick ya'all? What if there's someone else behind this? And I can't find out while he's asleep."

"Fuck." He sighed. He was a fair packmaster. "You've got blood in your hair." He ran his thumb over my eyebrow, wiping it. "You okay?"

When someone's asking _you, _the question doesn't seem as stupid as when you're the one asking. "Yeah." I didn't let my voice tremble. I'd get home first. "It's not mine. How's the shoulder?" I pointed at the deep marks running around his bicep.

"It was only dislocated."

"I'm sorry about Culpepper and Fletch."

He gritted his teeth, "He'll get through it. And she's not gone yet, either."

The tally was high. Jannalynn would need a surgery to fix the jaw broken in two places. Alcide had a lot of soft tissue damage, and Fletch had gone into a shock. As Betty had explained, the diamond rattlesnake's venom prevented his blood from coagulating properly and began destroying his tissues and internal organs, causing necrosis. It could have been fatal depending on the doze of the poison delivered with the bite, but seeking immediate medical attention most likely saved his life.

Preston, too, had been beaten to a pulp and had cuts all over his person. More than a few ribs had been fractured, and a couple of teeth missing.

I was reminded again a human body – even as strong as that of a Were – is just an envelope holding lots of liquid and fragile structure within.

My poor bodyguard looked exactly like she'd been in a fight with a grizzly bear. Her left cheek was swollen and bruised, the almost closed eye was now purple-black, the eyebrow cut and still oozing blood; she was limping heavily, and the ribs that had been healing, re-broke. She had a twisted ankle, lacerations everywhere I laid my eyes on, and two long zigzag gashes on her lower abdomen.

She winced, climbing into the car, but didn't make a sound.

"God, sweetie," I held my tears at bay with the last crumbs of will I'd mustered. "Let me take you to the supes clinic. Dr. Ludwig will take care of you."

"I'm a nurse, remember?" she slumped against the seat. "And Betty gave me some special painkillers. I just need some rest."

The pills were starting to kick in by the time we got to the Glass house. Our appearances didn't pass unnoticed by Otis, the Were guard at the front gates. Suspicious, he delayed me another minute to make sure I wasn't taken hostage by someone who was hiding in the car.

"Protocol," he apologized, his eyes darting from me to my passenger. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Just open the damned gates! "No, thank you."

Upstairs at last, I helped Valerie into bed.

"Sorry, but you'll have to find a replacement for a couple of days," she mumbled, sluggishly.

"Don't you worry'bout that," I hushed the young woman, pulling a blanket up over her. "And thank you. You were great. Awesome. Absolutely fantastic." Delicate yet unbelievably strong. "I didn't even know you could shift into a fu dog."

"I didn't know either," she smiled sleepily and closed her healthy eye, "but when I'm around you, seems like the impossible isn't impossible anymore."

She called me when I was at the door, "Sookie? It was him, in the woods…"

"I know, sweetie. I know."

I sniffed all the way down to the kitchen. Desperate for some cold water, I scrambled for a glass, dropped it, grabbed another… I was shaking now in earnest, shiver after shiver rolling through me.

Yet another bloodbath. Stumbling into me had spooked Preston big time. Did it have to do with the isolation from the ancient spirit? Was he afraid of the Were retribution for deceiving them? Because he'd figured out Alcide had trapped him? The way he'd changed his brain patterns upon seeing me proved he knew I was telepathic, which wasn't really a secret, but there were things about me – intimate, private things – only a person very close to me could have shared with him.

_It was Christmas Eve. You were alone… lonely…_

Pathetic Sookie Stackhouse had been in a dire need of a suitor, and what's a better time to give presents if not on Christmas? So my Great-Grandfather had arranged for a one-night stand for me – no strings attached! What an irony… Of course, Niall wasn't a christian: the yuletide tradition wasn't really his cup of tea, but – hell! – what a man (especially one as powerful as Niall) won't do for his beloved Great-Granddaughter, right? He'd pulled some strings, paid a little extra to a couple of real werewolves who'd been working for one of his companies to play along and set a stage for Preston – the star of the show, who'd made his grand entrance naked, cold, and banged up (for real, by the way) in my woods, for me to find, save, and protect from unsympathetic persecutors. Wasn't that what supes did? Trade and repay favors? And so Niall had apparently called in several – for me. Really, I should have been flattered and grateful, only I wasn't. I was pissed off. Mad as a thousand of devils.

I grabbed another glass and flung it into a wall.

Betrayed.

"God damn you, you son of a bitch!" I screamed.

Humiliated.

I'd heard loads of details from Preston, but not what I was yearning – burning – to know: why. Why the prince had done it and why he'd made me forget afterward. Better yet, how he could lie to me all this time, pretending his concern and generosity hadn't extended to my bed.

Violated.

"You cowardly piece of shit! Where're you hiding out, ha?!"

I wished he was here. I'd pouch his mind; I'd turn his brains inside out…

Poof! "Child."

I all but jumped out of my skin. A glass slipped out of my hand and crashed on the tiled floor under my bare feet.

"Niall! What are you doing here?"

"You called me," he uttered, trying not to appear stunned.

My Great-Grandfather is beautiful in an ethereal kind of way, but when he's in a human form, he's a very charming well-preserved man with fine skin, lovable tiny wrinkles around his eyes, pointed ears, and an amazing aura of power and magic surrounding him. I used to compare his fine long blond hair to cornsilk. Another association emerged: spidersilk. Yeah, cobweb would do; it was very fine, too. Ensnaring.

"How'd you get here?" I asked. My heart was still racing. How much adrenalin had my body already produced today? Was there a limit? "I though all portals had been shut down."

"I… I cannot tell you," he replied carefully. He was looking around as if materializing in my kitchen was a pure miracle.

I drew a deep breath. One, two, three… If I lost my cool too early too soon, I'd end up with even more questions than answers. Calm down, Sookie. Calm down. "Are you implying you heard me all the way to Faery?"

"I felt your urgent need to see me, yes," he clarified, carefully looking around. "There's death in this house."

Gosh, you think? "This is my home, I live here with Eric the vampire. Eric Northman, my bonded – remember?" I was discovering I had lots more nasty, dirty things I wanted to shout into his face. "Please, answer my question, Great-Grandfather. How did you get here?"

Ooo, he didn't like my disrespectful tone. "I cannot tell you for I don't know."

"You don't know? You don't know how you opened a portal after you shut them all down for good?"

"I sealed them off, it is true; however, I did not close them off completely," he said, maintaining a quiet and pleasant cadence. "And I haven't re-opened a single passage ever since."

"Who did?"

"That is complicated."

I was about to start pulling my hair out. "Then un-complicate it. You know what's happening here. Your own people – your family – are dying!"

"Is that why you called me – to discuss my family?"

That did it for me. "Family?" What do you know about family! "Here's _my_ definition of family: blood relatives who don't lie, don't deceive each other and don't set up their great-granddaughter with a fairy who owes them a favor! What's yours?"

His eyes filled with emotion. Sorrow? Regret? Did I hurt his feelings? Screw that!

"You're upset." …y_ouremembered… sosoon…_ "Please sit. Let us speak. Tell me why you have blood on you. Is it yours? Are you injured?"

"Don't. Just… don't pretend like you care."

I shook bits of glass off my pants and tiptoed towards the broom closet. I needed to start cleaning up.

"I've been worried about you, about your spark. I'd like to help."

Although I didn't hear a crunch of the crystal spilled on the floor, I knew he was following a step behind me.

"I assure you I'm not dying," I dryly clipped.

"Then I hope you summoned me from my homeland for equally good reason," and there was a clear ring in his thoughts that no one spoke to him like that and survived, "for I don't know if I will find a way back."

"You're right," I blurted, my back still turned to him. "Of course, your finding your way back to the ancient spirit is the most important thing."

He decided to be above my sarcasm. "I hold the throne, Sookie. It is my responsibility to put the interests of Faery above all, including my own. My presence is the only thing holding my world together at this point."

Where's a freakin' broom when you need one?! "I can't argue with that. But you should have taken Preston with you when you cut Faery off. You know what they say – it's a small world."

I realized I was staring in the dark compartment, looking for something that was right in front of me.

"You've met him, I gather," he commented, flatly. Was that all he gathered?

"Yes, finally. We weren't properly introduced the first time around, but I remember everything now."

"He was ordered to refrain from any contact with you," with deep reproach.

How wise. "It couldn't have been helped, I suppose. He was exposed. There was a fight, and a few people I deeply care about got hurt."

The shards were everywhere. I started to systematically sweep the floor. First, the corner by the garage door. By the cabinets. Past the sink. Anything, but seeing his face.

Niall went silent for a moment, watching me and contemplating in Caelli, and I was torn between the torrent of his mind and my own. My memories had returned to me, enhanced by Preston's. Was I at fault? Was I an idiot on top of miserable on top of lonely on top of indiscreet? How in the name of all that's holy had I failed to read the obvious signs that there had been something very wrong with Preston? The way he'd been eating the soup – awkwardly, as if he hadn't been in a habit of eating with a spoon at all; and when I'd given him the socks, he'd looked at them as if he hadn't even known he was supposed to put them on! His wounds had healed too fast, his broadcast had been uncharacteristic, and his transformation from human to wolf-self and back had gone overly smoothly. He'd been so eager to jump me – and I let him, a total stranger! Had I been so desperate for a body in my bed to have overlooked all those inconsistencies? Where had my common sense disappeared?

_A touch of magic to get the attraction started, _Preston had revealed. What was gnawing at me was whether I'd given in because I'd genuinely wanted to or because he'd addled my perception.

I was strangling the wooden stick with both hands. It could take it.

"I'm sorry it has come to this," Niall interrupted my intense self-analyzing. "My retreat to Faery was quite hasty and ill-prepared. I hoped to speak to you when I received the news of your spark awakening at an incredible speed, but I found myself… held up. I wished to be the first to explain your new nature…" …_aboutthearrangement…_

I was still catching up on my Caelli, and Great-Grandfather was thinking way too fast.

I finally looked at him. "Dermot's helping me, so you don't need to worry about my nature. I just wanna know why you thought you had the right to high-hand me like that."

"You _are_ my family. It's my duty to look after you," he seemed to stand taller than his six feet as he spoke with conviction. "That is why I sent Claudine to guard you. And also I came to appreciate your affection." _…smileeverytimeyouseeme…_ "I needed to do something for you. Since you didn't want to ask, I surmised a gift specially for you would be a proper gesture."

He really believed that, all right. "Niall, the very essence of a gift is that it's selfless," I tried to explain. I was hardly containing myself. I shoved his feet with the broom, and he stepped aside. "What you did wasn't just to make _me _feel better. You did it to make yourself feel better, like you're fulfilling an _obligation_. You're not indebted to me because we share blood. I'm grateful for Claudine. I won't ever forget you came to my rescue with Bill. But I didn't want anything from you. Why is it so hard to understand?"

"But… you were happy when I visited you the next day," he said, getting disconcerted with my stubbornness. That's how he deciphered my reaction: stubbornness.

My patience flew out the window. "I was happy to see _you_, to get to spend the Christmas day with you, and not because I'd been intimate with a stranger the night before!"

"He assured me he had left you in good state."

I felt sick. My face was burning. "You set up the whole story to fit my needs. Jason and I weren't talking – in big part because of you, by the way. You made him the fall guy as if he was the one who allowed Preston and some other pack to use my land as a parley ground. I was so upset with my brother I believed he'd go over my head like that. You told Preston I love helping people, so he was 'hurt'; that I love protecting people, so he was 'hunted'." My voice kept getting louder and louder, but I couldn't help it any more. "I hadn't had sex in a long time, so you told him to seduce me. And he did. He gave me a mercy fuck! There! You wanna know how he did it? He used magic to attract me! Do you have a slightest idea how that makes me feel?"

"I think I do," Niall was observing me with a concentration unfathomable for a mere human such as myself. He was impossible to read anymore; the thoughts and images started blurring, confusing me. "But that's what fairies do: they use their magic."

I snorted. I wasn't going to cry, no sir!

"Yeah. Just like Fintan used his to attract Adele. Like my father attracted my mother. Like Jason attracts any skirt he lays his eyes on."

"The magic works only if there is a mutual desire in the first place," Niall clarified, quietly.

I went stone cold. No. No! I had _lusted _after Preston, but…"Doesn't mean I had to act on it. For Christ's sake, I thought he was injured, his life was in danger," I gushed, exasperated. "It was wrong_,_ all the way around. Then you showed up, all nice and sweet. You knew, the whole time."

"Yes. I believed you had enjoyed my treat."

"It was a big fat LIE!"

"You needed to be loved." The way he said it is how they give you the news you have terminal illness. "You needed a purpose, to give kindness to those who required your benevolence. It is who you are, Sookie – a giver. Anyone can see that about you." He tried to touch my face, but I turned my head aside. He sighed, heavily, and his hand fell down. "That day, we shared a meal, and you thanked me for being the only person in your life who didn't try to impose on you. I realized I might have made a crucial mistake. You weren't ready to fully understand my reasons, so I buried the memories deep within your mind, until the time was right. Understand: I am your elder. I do have the right and obligation to care for you, whether you concede or not, the same way your bonded and pledged vampire has the right to speak for you and protect you."

"Don't you dare," I flinched. "Don't you dare compare yourself to Eric. He would never subject me to magic without my consent, the way you did. He doesn't lie to me. And he would never – never! – glamour me unless _I _let him. You intruded into my mind, Niall. You violated my privacy. You took away my right to choose whom I sleep with. You let Preston spell me. You…" I almost choked. "You're worse than Uncle Bartlett." At least that pervert hadn't been hiding what he had planned for me.

His face was openly sad. "My hope was that once your spark awakened and you grew to accept our world, you'd see my actions for what they really are. I love you, child. That won't change. I know you will come to understand I did not mean to hurt you."

A shining pool of gleaming glass beads had formed by my feet. I was spent. I was tired. I was mentally exhausted and physically wiped out. Not a week since Eric and I had returned from Nevada, and already another skirmish. Was Culpepper still alive? Was Preston going to survive?

I threw the broom aside. The hell with it all. I wanted to be alone. "Please, go," I said, in a whisper. "Go now, before Eric wakes up and tears you up into tiny tinkerbells."

"But there's much we need to discuss," Niall murmured. "I've been troubled the isolation would harm you, and I'm so relieved your spark isn't deformed. How?"

"Get out. Go back to Faery and stay there. I never want to see you again." I truly believed my every word.

A white shimmer splashed around him.

"There's still hope," he said, and a smile that used to warm my heart softened his dejected expression. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes with apparent contentment. "We _shall_ meet again, soon," and he was gone.

I got to the shower before I'd collapse. The day was almost over; the twilight was descending rapidly, dimming the sun behind the glass wall of my day bathroom.

The hardest part was still ahead of me.

I had to figure out how to tell Eric about everything that had happened and not to entice a war between vampires and fairies.

I needed to come up with a bullet-proof justification for Niall's actions so that Eric wouldn't go ballistic and try to wash the blood offense with more blood.

I had to convince him not to kill Preston.

I washed myself, over and over.

Then I began scrubbing.

_A/N I will not be posting Chapter 8 Over on f f net due to its disturbing content. It is a very important chapter that deals with Sookie's and Eric's pasts, including his experience with Ocella. Themes of abuse (sexual, physical, and psychological) present. As much as I wanted to bring DTRT fully to f f net, it is impossible without violating their rules, so only a recap of the chapter will be posted here._


	13. Ch 8: Over (Recap)

_A/N Due to the disturbing content, Chapter 8: Over will not be posted on ff net. You can visit the blog (direct Chapter 8 link in the profile page) to read the full version.**  
**_

**Ch 8: Over (Recap)**

Sookie thinks through her day and the conversation with Niall. She is barely holding up after the Vamp dogs' attack and the shooting in the Nevada desert, struggling with her growing powers and uncontrollable telepathy, and dealing with the aftermath of the fight at Alcide's and other problems. All of it finally got the best of her, when she lashed out on Niall. Finally at her lowest, she relives the traumatic past, feeling betrayed and hurt by the events of the last Christmas she remembered at seeing/touching Preston. Overwhelmed, she scrubs herself too hard in the shower, causing redness and skin irritation.

After analyzing her options and realizing she is overly emotional at the moment, Sookie decides not to take any drastic steps for now with regards to either her Great-Grandfather, or Preston, and to convince Eric not to seek reprimand for Niall's interfering with the bond. Sookie reasons that the timing is not appropriate for her and Eric to be distracted with personal issues and revenge, because the war is looming on the horizon and their days are literally counted before the coronation and the informal Amun meeting. She finds it more important to concentrate on the bigger picture – her training, the strange voices calling, political complications, etc.

Eric finds Sookie in a suspiciously calm mood. Immediately, he notices the redness of her skin. His first concern is to find out what happened and how he can heal her. With his blood and saliva, he tends to the wounds she sustained during the fight and the cuts on the bottom of her feet from walking on the broken glass.

Sookie explains briefly about the fight at Alcide's, and that she accidentally called Niall from Faery; they had an argument and she harshly demanded that he would leave. She regrets her outburst, but Eric feels through the bond her pain is deep and real. Eventually, Sookie tells him what happened last Christmas, how Preston is connected to her, and why Niall's actions triggered memories of the childhood trauma. Sookie is reluctant to explain the bit about Uncle Bartlett at first, and that by manipulating her, Niall basically disturbed the old wound. Since Eric suffered abuse at the hands of his own maker for decades, she understands that her story will inevitably stir his own memories, and she wishes to spare him the hurt, unfortunately, unsuccessfully.

Sookie stresses to Eric that in order to override the Weres' right to punish Preston, he must explain the true nature of Preston's crime against their blood bond, and she is not willing to bring her secret out in the open. Eric agrees not to kill Preston (his own reasons will be more clear in the next chapter) since the Long Tooth pack already has a claim on him.

Eric decides to get to Preston before the fairy speaks to anyone and reveals his connection to Sookie. She goes to their bedroom downstairs to change. Alone at last, Eric is unable to resist the memories of his time with Ocella. He has a flashback to the time when he was turned and to the following fifty years of physical, sexual, and psychological abuse his Maker consistently and methodically subjected him to. Eric realizes that since the night Ocella finally died, he has been avoiding the subject and refusing to acknowledge what had been done to him. Sookie's pain and her words that she is a survivor and not a victim, make him face his own reality and embrace it. In doing so, he finds relief, finally seeing that his Maker was unable to break him: the abused did not become the abuser, as Ocella wished him to.

Accidentaly, Sookie telepathically witnesses Eric's flashback. They do not discuss each other's past, both knowing that silent understanding is enough.

They prepare to fly over to Alcide's house, when Pam calls Eric, _"It's Ridley. We've got a problem."_


	14. Ch 9: Rest In Peace Not In Heaven Part 1

_A/N Sneak peek into DTRT Ch 16 is up on my blog, I'm hoping to post the entire chapter sometime next week. As I put Eric, Sookie and the Co on the plane, they sort of took over and got into a conversation they had never really had. Guess what, Eric's moral compass if finally on trial. What would Sookie say to him? _

**Ch 9: Rest In Peace, Not In Heaven. Part 1.**

stardragon by sandara

**EPOV**

"I came to Fangtasia early," says Pam. "Ridley was already in the parking lot. He stormed into your office and locked himself up. He keeps saying he can't feel her anymore…" Something crashes and shatters. "What the fuck?… If that was your computer…"

"Put him on the phone!"

"Ridley, open the door!" Pam puts all the authority she has into her tone, "the Sheriff wants to talk to you."

The noise in the background ceases. A moment of silence later, I hear the door being unlocked. "Sheriff, I…" comes raggedly. I hardly recognize Ridley's voice – confidence and calmness gone, replaced with hectic confusion. "I don't feel her anymore."

"Does she live?"

"I don't know. I've tried calling her. I go straight to her voice mail. And she's never missed my calls!"

Either something has happened to his bond with Brittany, or to Brittany. He must be deeply attached to her, indeed.

"I need to fly back to Vegas, tonight," he says.

Fuck the destroyed Dell; this may be a perfect opportunity for me break the young vampire down. "If she's dead, you cannot help her."

"I have to do something! What if she's still alive?"

"Your masters should know."

His silence is more expressive than words.

She might have been taken, then. "One of my men will lead you to a safe place. Wait for me there."

"Are you offering your help, Sheriff?"

The cards are falling open. "I am telling you to calm down and think if going back unprepared is worth the risk."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't."

I instruct Pam to call Jonathan Cramer and have him take Ridley to the safe house in the industrial area where the Arkansas drainers were held. "I won't be at the club tonight. Come over immediately after the closing."

Sookie has been listening to my conversation attentively.

"Is this about Brittany?" she asks.

I nod.

"Poor thing," she murmurs. I am not certain if she is referring to the missing or possibly dead woman or the young vampire. "Let's get this thing with Preston sorted out. I guess you're going to the Dexter house after that?"

"The Dexter house?"

"Yeah, that's what I call it."

"Who's Dexter, lover?" I ask, opening the door for her.

"You don't know Dexter? Really?" she shakes her head, not without a faint smile. "It's a fictional book and TV character. A strong, smart, vicious man who kills bad guys in a neat way. He thinks he has a monster in him – a dark passenger for life."

"Sounds familiar." I hold her tight and launch into the sky.

We fly as fast and high as she can tolerate. As usual, the cool air feels soothing against my skin, and the velocity and the sensation of weightlessness help me clear my mind and refocus after the tension of the past hour and a half. Sookie enjoys the air trip, her limbs wrapped around me securely; however, she is shivering upon landing. She will need a much warmer coat, for I intend to use every opportunity to take her flying with me more frequently.

The neighborhood is quiet. I release my energy and scan the grounds and the large house up on a low hill. There is a great number of intense warm presences. Angry Weres. The scarce white glow below the main level must be the fairy. From the distance, I notice the glow to be thinner than that of Dermot, and slashed with floating black spots. Are these defects the result of an iron poisoning or the symptoms of the spark deformation?

Although I know where Alcide lives (as where most of relatively important supernaturals in my area reside), I have never visited his estate before and have not been invited into his house. The animal odor swirls into my nose, assaulting my senses, as we approach the front porch. Without pausing, Sookie goes in, and I am able to follow her into the wide hallway. Odd.

"Sookie," I whisper, "Rescind my invitation."

"Huh?" she looks over her shoulder at me, surprise clear on her beautiful face.

"Rescind my invitation," I repeat, quietly.

"Eric Northman, I rescind your invitation to this house."

Nothing happens. It appears I have just discovered a new advantage of the high bond – if Sookie is in a dwelling, I can enter freely without any invitation, and no one can force me out. This discovery may come handy one night.

From the sounds of vigorous activities and the smells of sweat mixed with chemicals, I conclude the main group of Weres is working behind the closed doors to my left. This must be where the fight took place, and they are fixing their packleader's house speedily and diligently.

A tall, dark-haired Were comes into the hallway from another set of doors. I remember him from the time of the Witch War; his name, however, escaped me.

"Walter, hey" Sookie greets him, "Any news?"

"Jannalynn and Fletch will be okay," he answers, after giving me a forlorn look. "But Culpepper is bad. The doc says she's not gonna make it past the sunrise."

"I'm so sorry," Sookie says, softly.

"No one can do shit about it now, right?'

"Where is Alcide?" I interrupt his pointless grumbling.

The Were shoves his hands into the pockets of his dirty working jeans. "You've just missed him. He went over to the clinic."

"We were supposed to meet him here," Sookie masks her chagrin with seeming calmness.

"Yeah, he told me you were coming by."

My patience is waning. How long is he planning on delaying us? We are attracting unwanted attention: the Weres inside the room have stopped their carpentry and painting, apparently listening to our exchange. Their hostility is evident in the heavy silence, labored breathing, and increasing intensity of the warmth I register with my essence. I need not to read their agitated minds to know their first urge is to blame the vampire and his human for any and all troubles, despite their total lack of understanding of all the relevant facts. Sookie does not deserve to be subjected to such an attitude.

"Just show us to the cellar," I tell the Were, "And you can return to your work."

"This way."

Through a large kitchen of dark wood, we descend into the basement converted to a wine cellar. As I spent my fair share of nights in the legendary wine caves in France while traveling through Europe, I recognize immediately the familiar level of humidity and the temperature, which is atypical for Louisiana. The conditions here are artificially controlled, probably with a sophisticated system that allows cooling the basement during summer and heating it in winter, to store and properly age the wine. It is amazing to what lengths breathers will go just for a sip of alcohol…

Perhaps, the same lengths a vampire would, for a sip of pure fairy blood, the fumes of which have saturated the conditioned air.

.

**SPOV**

I glanced at a small, lit with green, electronic panel on the wall. It had a Wine Guardian logo on it and a lot of buttons and indicators. Fifty five Fahrenheit. I wrapped the coat tighter around myself; I still had goose bumps after the flight, and the chill in the basement wasn't helping. I _wasn't _nervous about seeing Preston again, I told myself, no sir.

The steep metal ladder led down to a small rectangular room with an unfinished wooden table and a couple of chairs in the center. When we reached the ground, Walter turned additional lights on. The basement was built in a T-shape. Long shelves filled with wine bottles were running along the opposite wall – the top of the T – stretching in both directions and out of my sight into the darkness.

Preston was awake. The moment he'd noticed us, he'd darted behind a corner, but the ropes, the ends of which had been tied to a ring mounted into the brick wall, wouldn't let him hide too far down the wing.

They had put the fairy on a short leash.

"Leave us," Eric said, leveled.

Walter spat under his feet, then glanced from me to the coolest thing here – the vampire – then back at me. "'kay. Shout if you need anything."

I cringed; I'd had a rough couple of weeks, and the pressure was finally catching up with me. My shields weren't as impermeable as they should, and the echo of the broadcasts from upstairs was unrelentingly getting louder. Great.

Eric lightly put both hands on my shoulders. He was in high alert mode. Because of the anger and the aphrodisiac thick in the air, his fangs were fully protruding, and I wistfully wished he would drag them up along the side of my neck. I needed a boost of adrenaline, badly – something that even a head-spinning flight on board of an Eric-class jet had failed to produce.

A surge of strength came to me through the bond. One night at a time, I'll be handling my life one night at a time.

The basement door closed with a squeak, like in bad horror movies.

"Preston," I said. "Come out into the light."

"Who is he?" he croaked, scared.

Eric acknowledged Preston's inquiry with a menacing hiss. Men.

"He's my bonded husband."

"Are you gonna let him… drain me?"

If I knew anything about the undead culture, Eric wouldn't dip a fang into Preston's blood. There was something incontrovertibly degrading in the eyes of a vampire to let good blood go to waste, and the Viking was dead serious and eager not only to hurt, but humiliate his enemy in every way he could, without actually killing him.

Whatever. "No one's going to drain you. We're here to talk."

Preston's thoughts were scrambled with fear, and maybe, his spark was sickening him, too. It was going to be a challenge to read him, but I needed to clear up everything that was bothering me, Eric, and Alcide, because any unresolved doubts would be interpreted against the accused. You see, the American justice system is all about the presumption of innocence, and supes don't give two shits about it.

I loudly sighed. Dammit, was I tired… "I'm gonna sit down," I pulled a chair, "Why don't you join me? Let's not do this the hard way, all right? Neither one of us has much time."

Preston limped out from behind the corner and took a few uncertain steps towards the table. His dark hair was messy and tangled, framing his pale face like a filthy, wet tow. The improvised dressing that used to be Jannalynn's anti-vamp tee was still wrapped around his thigh. It was the only piece of clothing he was wearing. Crusty patches of dried blood were covering his body that was as muscular and well-built as I vividly remembered.

I quickly scanned him from head to toe. He'd healed up pretty well. What exactly had Betty given him? The same thing she'd given to Valerie?

Eric moved like a ghost. He was taller and used the extra inches to tower over the fairy. "Sit. Down."

The order was very quiet, but Preston obeyed immediately, as if his legs gave out. The ropes around his neck and waist dangerously stretched when he took the chair opposite to me. He put his hands, tied in wrists, on the raw wood of the table top. His fingers were trembling.

I looked into his huge, scared, tawny eyes. Finally, I knew why I'd been having these weird déjà vu flashes, from the night when the Nest of Four had played January, to the day I'd found a deer in the meadow. That day, a shadow of recognition had crossed my mind, as I'd watched myself, wrapped in the breezy golden dust, through the eyes of the mimic animal. I would have remembered if I'd touched him then. My spark had been coming to life, and whatever Niall had blocked, had already started to slip out of some enclosed corner of my subconscious. That's why the Great Prince had wanted to visit with me – to talk to me before I'd remember on my own. He couldn't have possibly foreseen Faery would be locked down and I'd stumble into Preston – out of all people.

He broke the silence first. "You saved my life."

I only delayed the inevitable. "I wonder if I made a mistake, Preston. A young woman is about to die because you broke her spine."

He swallowed, hard. "I didn't mean to. At first, when I saw you, I thought my secret was out, but you looked at me like you didn't recognize me. I figured you were pretending, and I should play along."

"I wasn't. I had no idea who you really were until I touched you."

"Oh. I guess I figured wrong."

I scooped his mental jumble. It was obvious he didn't question why I'd behaved so strangely. All he really cared about was the fact that I'd exposed him. How and why made no difference_. _

"Well, after you did, I was busted," he added, half-shrugging, half-shivering.

"Why did you run?"

"I panicked. I had to get out of there. I didn't mean to hurt anyone, but when you're shifted, the boundaries… they blur."

"The instincts take control over you? Your higher conscious?"

"Most of the times, yes, especially when I'm threatened."

I glanced down at his fingers, drumming with the tremors. He noticed.

"It's not only this. It's everything. I can't teleport. I can't shift, and not just because of these," he tugged at the spelled ropes on his wrists. It was a special hex that prevented all kinds of two-natured, born and bitten, from changing. If I had any doubts whether or not it would work on a fairy, Preston's crestfallen mood erased them all. "My magic is getting weaker with every second. At least, I've recovered from the fight."

"Thanks to the drugs Betty gave you."

Preston nodded. He had no reasons to lie anymore, and now he was just hurrying to get it all out of his chest. "I haven't been able to shift properly for a while, anyway. That's how this all started. A few days ago, the Weres went for a run on Alcide's land. I changed with them, too, but something went wrong. He thought I smelled like a human and started asking about my family. I'd paid a couple of Weres to cook up a cover story before, and Alcide seemed to have bought it. I didn't think he'd keep looking into it."

I thought for a second. "Why didn't Valerie recognize you at first? You fought before, in my woods. She should have known who you were."

"I was fine back then, in the woods. I could transform into any living thing, and I wasn't just shifting; I was able to almost _become _the creature I was shifting into. Your bodyguard didn't recognize me today because I didn't look or smell like a buck. But I'm sure she did, once she smelled my blood. Blood never lies."

I sensed Eric through the bond, as if a bulb went off in an 'a-ha' moment.

"How long have you been in this world? Since Christmas?"

"No." He drew a deep breath, trying to calm down. The shakes didn't stop. "After I met you, I felt… intrigued by humans. I started visiting. Faery isn't the most welcoming world, and I was just one of many there. Here, I was different. Unique in a way."

Asshole. Nothing unique about that.

"I've been to many places. I would come and go as I pleased. The only thing I wasn't allowed to do was to contact you, not even come near you. Niall's word's a law; I had to comply. But when I found myself stuck in human realm, I went back to Bon Temps."

"What's so special about Bon Temps?"

"The portal in your woods leads directly to the Old Temples. It's a holy place for all fae. The Great Prince lives there, on the bright side of the Narrow River."

He twitched. I clamped his hands down with mine. Shadows. Colossal trees with red leaves shaped like crescents – _Dalls._ White, cracked stone. Tall columns. Vast chambers. Drift. Quiet. Equilibrium. Force.

"The magic within those walls is believed to be from the beginning of the worlds – older than Faery itself," Preston went on, unsuspectingly. "No one really understands what it is or where it came from. Niall is so powerful because he knows how to tap into that source."

Call me paranoid, but I wasn't ready to believe him just yet. "You were in my woods because you wanted to go home. That's it?"

"Yes. Your world can be a paradise in small portions, but it's full of iron and toxins."

In other words, you don't live where you love to vacation. "Didn't you know Niall had sealed Faery off months ago?" I asked with growing agitation.

"I did. I tried other passages known to me. I was hoping this particular one would still be working, because Niall used it himself. It was my last resort; I had to check it out. I shifted into a deer, just in case if you happened to be there. I couldn't let you recognize me."

He gave a vibe of insincerity.

My teeth clenched. "I want the whole truth," I pushed the words out. I _hated _being lied to!

The vampire growled with unadulterated menace. The fairy blanched. "It is, Sookie, I swear!"

"You tried to make me touch you. If it weren't for Valerie, I would have touched you!" I was a hair away from slapping Preston's distorted face. Freakin' magic! "Cut the bull shit! Niall's word is a law, my ass! Sweet, innocent deer begging to be petted – what the hell was that all about? And don't even try to weasel your way out of this!"

His eyes flashed up to Eric who'd come to stand by my side. How my man was able to restrain his rage, jealousy, and murderous instincts was a testament to his inner strength and trust in me.

I listened, trying to make out the new Caelli words. "You were telling the truth about becoming one with the animal you're changing into. The primal instincts prevail, and…"

Preston was simply embarrassed to explain aloud.

"You wanted a touch of _my _magic?"

"I don't know what came over me," he confessed. "I saw your glow. I got curious. I couldn't resist. Like I said, when you're shifted, the boundaries blur. It was a mistake."

I wasn't surprised. I was simply beyond having anything but this exhausted, numb what-else-is-new reaction. Vampires, Weres, shifters… Really, why not fairies? If my scent was so strong as to inspire the Nest of Four to play like they had never played in three centuries; if my power could mend Dermot's spark; if my magic had allowed Valerie to shift into a fu dog, why was it so hard to believe that the attraction of whatever it was – the X-factor – had overridden the fairy's obligation toward Niall?

My mouth suddenly went dry. "What about the Christmas night? Was that my magic or yours?"

"Mine. I wanted to make you comfortable around me."

"_How _comfortable?"

"Just enough to do what you really wanted to," he answered, perplexed, "to help you stop worrying about everything else."'

His response took the winds right out of my sails. I let go of his hands and tried to convince my heart not to leap out of my throat. I didn't know anymore if I'd I been horny or just very lonely that night. Maybe, both. It didn't matter, because whatever reasons I'd had to want Preston and actually sleep with him had been mine. Only mine.

I heard Eric asking something. I let myself absorb the sound of his voice. I thought that the huge, tawny eyes would never disturb my peace again. No more déjà vu.

I forced myself back into the present.

"… and Sookie fired into the air," Preston was saying. "I can't teleport in my other forms, so I ran away through the woods. The shifter could only follow me from above. She didn't see that I changed when I reached the water. I swam as far as I could. My wounds healed overnight."

"What did you want with the Were pack? How did you manage to trick them?" I asked.

"Whenever I visited the human world, I would conceal my true nature. If I came across other supes, I posed as a Were. After my powers started failing me, I knew my own kind wouldn't help me even if they could, and going back to Niall's portal was equally dangerous. I thought if I earned the local pack's trust, they might lead me to another passage or to someone who'd know if there was any left. It was a long shot, but what else could I do?"

Eric and I exchanged quick glances, and I slightly shook my head. There were no passages left open, period.

Preston's resilience – the overpowering urge to live – was undeniable. Any fairy left in this world (except for me) had felt the loss of the ancient spirit. They all accepted the doom. Preston didn't. He kept trying to save himself, although there was no hope. He refused to lie down and die. He fought, in more ways than one. He might not deserve my sympathy, but I respected the tenaciousness with which he clung to his deformed spark.

His entire body convulsed. He clutched his dirty hair with both hands and shut his eyes with a groan. His mind went into a bizarre overdrive. For a few moments, he was shuddering in pain. Eric tensed, ready to attack at the first sign of danger to me.

"The isolation is killing you," I said quietly, once the wave of shock had passed, and Preston calmed down a little.

He was too weak to be stunned. "You know about the ancient spirit."

"Yes."

"I'm at the end of my rope," he said, full of bitter sarcasm. The whites of his eyes had turned red in a matter of few seconds.

"Haven't you ever wondered why Niall took a special interest in me? I'm his kin, Preston. I'm part fairy."

"But… how's that you're not…"

"That's not important. What's important is that you have a choice."

.

**EPOV**

It was when I held her in my arms, feeling her steady heartbeat reverberating in my chest, that I knew I would not kill Preston, despite my righteous rage and entitlement to punish the offender. The act of revenge would give me miniscule satisfaction, but would it alleviate Sookie's need to re-establish her confidence? To take back whatever control she could, over her past? Would it not diminish her trust that I would always support her even though I might not agree with her ways?

As I witness relief roll through our tie, I see my decision has justified itself as I have hoped. A weight is lifted off Sookie's shoulders, and the bond is smoothing over. For an instant, she withdraws into her own inner world. It has been extremely trying for me to stand back and do nothing, when all I wished was to tear the fairy into shreds. Now, I continue the interrogation, allowing her a moment to regroup.

I ask him about his first encounter with Raven. He doesn't realize how much valuable information he has already provided me with – something to ponder later, though. But it is when Sookie offers him a choice that I am unpleasantly taken by surprise.

"You're dying," she says, calmly, almost indifferent, without sympathy or compassion she is so capable of. "You used all your magic during the fight and to repair yourself physically. You have almost nothing left. If by some miracle the isolation doesn't kill you first, the Weres will execute you as soon as Culpepper is no more."

He is curling up with her every word.

"But you can do something about _how _you die. You're truly gifted, I can see that now. You have a special power to heal yourself. You can heal others, too. Help her. Alcide is a fair packleader. He will take that into consideration at the judging."

The fairy shakes his head helplessly, "I wish I could, Sookie. The spark… it's eating me away."

"I know. I can fix that, temporarily."

What?!

"We all have a choice to make here," Sookie slightly raises her voice, speaking not only to Preston, but to me as well. "I am willing to help you, but you have to do something in return. It's a one-time offer. It expires the moment I leave this cellar."

_Sookie! _I call her in my mind, _No._

"I'll do it," Preston suddenly says. His determination only irritates and frustrates me further.

This conversation isn't over. Sookie tells the fairy she will be right back, and once we are out of the basement, I shut the door, not bothering to contain myself any longer.

"What are you doing, Sookie? Remember what Dermot said. Your powers are limited. You're already exhausted!"

"Culpepper still has a chance."

"Are you _that_ certain the risk is warranted? What if his magic is corrupted beyond your help? It can have the opposite effect!" He may end up killing more than one person tonight.

"I won't know, unless I try."

After all she's been through, she still wishes to help another at her own expense! "It will be over tonight, with or without you. Did you not want to let it go?"

"I do; of course, I do." She takes my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. "But I need to try. I'll know when to stop, but I can't do it without you."

Being with Sookie is a constant trial – to my strength, my sanity, my feelings, my discretion, and my composure.


	15. Ch 9: Rest In Peace Not In Heaven Part 2

_A/N Just posted Ch 16 on the blog. Happy Halloween everybody!_**  
**

**SPOV**

His eyes were stormy, blazing with furious disapproval.

What the hell was I doing?

"If I feel even for a moment it's hurting you, I'll tear him apart," Eric finally said, darkly. "Then it will be over for good."

It wasn't a question, and I had nothing to say to that. Not a word.

Eric pulled his phone and dialed a number, without taking his eyes off mine.

"Eric," he quipped in a way of identifying himself. "Sookie just talked to him. He was acting alone. There's no threat to your people."

I heard Alcide's agitated rumbling.

"She believes he can correct that error. Let him try."

The rumbling increased.

"You have no other option," Eric was getting impatient. " Yes… We'll leave once he's ready."

I let out a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding.

"He is calling his next-in-command as we speak," Eric told me, after he'd hung up. "Walter will take us."

Few minutes later, two Weres loaded Preston in the back of a car. The drive down to the clinic was short. Dr. Ludwig had moved immediately after the Fairy War to a much larger facility, and it had a special wing for intensive care units.

Preston had been given pants and a shirt, but there were still ropes wrapped around his neck, and his hands were now tied behind his back. The security let us through without batting an eye.

Culpepper was in a separate room. Her small body had been hooked to machines that breathed for her and supported her life systems, but not for long. She was in a deep coma; her brain wasn't giving any legible signals. Her skin looked old and fissured, ready to flake into ashes at a slightest touch.

Alcide was slouched over in the chair next to the bed, with his back to the door. He didn't move when the four of us came in.

"I need to be closer," Preston whispered to me. He wasn't afraid anymore. Had he finally accepted the inevitability of his demise?

"I should kill you. Now," Alcide said, without turning to us. There was something profoundly sad in his voice.

I went round the bed. The sound of the ventilator moving the air in and out of the woman's lungs, and the beeping of the numerous indicators seemed to be counting her minutes away. Alcide was holding her hand. His eyes gave away he'd shed tears for her. I saw right through him; his misery was overwhelming.

I nodded to Preston to come closer.

"Untie him," I told Walter.

The Were hesitated.

"Do as she says!" Alcide suddenly snapped. I'd never seen him like this – not even when he'd abjured Debby Pelt – destroyed, hanging by a thread of hope Preston had unexpectedly given him.

In a blink of an eye, Walter produced a knife and freed the fairy's hands. "Don't try anything funny," he growled, a useless threat.

"Watch the door. Don't let anyone in," Alcide commanded briskly. He wanted privacy more than I did.

Preston was shaking in earnest, but he was trying to keep it together. As carefully as he could, he pulled the blanket down and, holding his palms a few inches away from the listless body, moved them around, looking for the right spot. He stopped and glanced back at me.

I wrapped my arms around Preston from behind and pressed my cheek against his back. I shut my eyes, concentrating only on his spark and calling to it. It was an amazing force, coursing uncontrollably through him, faster and faster, searching for a way out and finding none. It didn't feel right – it was too brutal and hot. Instead of nourishing, it was destroying; instead of feeding, it was consuming him, leaving pieces of him broken and dead. It _was _eating him alive.

Isolation in its worst.

There was only one thing I could do – let his spark connect to the ancient spirit inside me.

One breath to live. One heart to give. In that moment, I felt Eric's love pouring into the high bond, giving me wings to fly and strength to change the world.

Preston's pulse matched mine. The current of his spark reversed its course. Sluggishly at first, the warmth started overflowing into me. I steeled myself not to struggle but to welcome it. The warmth became heat – lava that was relentlessly filling every corner of my being, nearing my heart. It was now consuming _me_, scorching everything I had to offer and demanding more. Preston was turning into a black hole – a pull that was sucking my magic out of me.

The bond stretched. The cool, ice blue field was closing around me, rapidly blocking me from the fairy. No! I silently screamed, not yet! Not yet!

Eric's surprise echoed mine, _I'm not doing this! The bond… it's protecting you! Let go of him!_

The high bond fulfilled is a nearly intelligent power of its own, but I could not fight it, because it was still a part of me and Eric.

I struck before the bond would shield me completely. The energy I'd been cultivating for the past few days zinged in me and blasted through my palms, my chest, my abdomen… With my eyes closed, I could see the golden shimmer swirling around me and Preston. It rolled through him, drowning his white light in its wake, like a wave born in explosion no human eye could ever detect.

The bond enclosed around me, propelling me away from Preston and into Eric's iron grip. Cool. Safe.

"I'm okay." My lips were numb. "I'm okay."

I heard a strangled noise. Preston!

He was still holding his hands over Culpepper's motionless form. He was glowing with pure white light. Then he looked at me with a smile and crumbled into white dust before my eyes.

Did I kill him? "Oh, my God. Oh, my God…"

At some point, Alcide had stood up, kicking his chair back, and now was staring in disbelief at the remnants of the fairy that would vanish without a trace in a few minutes.

"Eric, what happened?" I mumbled.

"Nothing," Alcide answered. Disbelief became disappointment. His fists tightened. "Nothing happened! Fucking fairies! Fucking vampires! Fucking…"

I think Eric didn't leap at him only because he had my overheated mass cradled against his cool chest. God, he felt good…

"Will you shut up and listen?" he growled at Alcide.

I buried my flushed face into Eric's shirt. His scent was calming me down even better.

"I've done enough listening! How could I trust a cold ass like…" Alcide suddenly went quiet.

The beeping changed. A consciousness that had been just a dull noise until that moment, stirred.

"Walter!" Alcide yelled, "Get the doctor, now!"

I could hear his every though. He'd been given a second chance. I sincerely hoped that when she finally woke up, he'd tell her how he felt.

"Sookie?"

I wiggled around in Eric's hold, pressing my back into him. I wanted to go home and sleep for a week.

"I owe you," Alcide said.

"Not me. Eric."

He looked up at my husband. He squared his shoulders. "I won't forget."

"Tell no one," Eric replied, quietly.

The two men said nothing further. They didn't shake hands. But they came to an agreement. There was no bad blood between the vampire and the Were.

The room started getting crowded with the medical personnel. Unnoticed, Eric ushered me out into the hallway. I leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths. It was a close shave, and I had not a drop of energy left.

"You did it," Eric said. He was proud, and angry, and relieved, and a million other things. "_You _did it."

I wished I had his amazing confidence at times like these. I wished I could avoid questioning whether saving Culpepper's life justified taking Preston's. I hadn't known it would work. I'd gambled.

"I killed him."

"You gave him strength. He used it all to cure her. He _chose_ a clean death."

I also wished that I could stop, just for a moment, and find meaningful words. If it weren't for Eric, I wouldn't have been able to go through with any of it – right or wrong. Was l actually grateful? Or had a small part of me secretly hoped he'd put his foot down and refuse to help me?

I'm not a saint. I'm not kind. I'm not even patient. The last few days and nights had been a test of whether or not I was cut out for this life, full of fine lines, gray areas, huge responsibilities, and crushing power and obligation to guide others. Being Eric's wife wasn't about doing small favors on occasion. He needed – wanted – a true partner who would take charge, without hesitation, when he couldn't.

"You must rest." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "I'll take you home."

Ah, right… "Can't. I don't have my coat." Pity if I'd lost it. I really liked that coat…

Eric phoned Garry to pick me up from the clinic. I didn't let him wait with me. "Go take care of Ridley. I bet he's freaking out by now."

A small group of Weres had gathered up by the entrance – troops were showing their support to the packmaster and one of their own. Through Walter, Alcide had already announced, without going into details, that Eric and I had persuaded Preston to help Culpepper recover, and we should be given due respect. It was a sensible and generic enough explanation that worked for all three of us. As a result, I was more than protected and even appreciated. Wow.

No one asked what had happened to the body.

"I have arranged for Price to fix up the first floor," Eric said. "He asked for an early start in the morning. He'll be bringing a considerably large crew."

"That's fine." With any luck, my shields would be in top shape by then. "Go."

The Viking was clearly dragging his feet. "If you need to leave or anything at all, call the security at the gates and ask for Otis. I've spoken to the agency; tomorrow, he will be entirely at your disposal."

Otis was one of the Were guards I'd scooped many times. He was a smart guy, and I liked how he allowed just enough concern without being annoying. "Thanks, but you're worrying too much. I can handle myself."

"That's exactly what I'm worrying about."

Before he would disappear into the night, Eric gave me a gentle, yet fervent kiss that made me long for more. Above all, I missed being with him, just _him_.

"I shall not open Fangtasia tomorrow," he said. "We can have a night to ourselves." And he didn't need to mention the endless list of obvious if's_._

"Sounds like a date." A girl can at least hope, right?

Eric arched an eyebrow, "Will you pick a place?"

Hope is a very importunate and haunting lady. "Any preferences?"

A small smile curved the corner of his lips up. "Surprise me."

"Don't I always?"

.

Regal Beast by Kerri–Jo

**EPOV**

For a fleeting moment, I felt connected to the fairy through Sookie, touching upon the same kind of magic Colman possessed, and then the high bond revealed itself in its beauty, in a room filled with a sharp smell of dying flesh. How relieving and satisfying it is to know a power other than myself watches out for and protects my wife, literally. I am not tempted to test how effective that protection is, though. I consider the Preston incident concluded; whatever has been bothering Sookie with respect to him, is set to rest. She can concentrate on her priorities again.

It is already Monday, past midnight. She is asleep by the time I land in front of the Dexter house. I am alone in the bond, and I take a moment to channel my essence and cleanse my patterns.

Cramer meets me outside. "He hasn't moved, or said a word."

"Any calls?"

"Neither made, nor received."

I send him to watch the perimeter before I go in.

The Nevada vampire is in the living room. The TV is off; he has been sitting on the sofa in silence, gripping that slick mobile for hours, and waiting. For his sake, I hope he has spent his time wisely, thinking through his options. His patterns are rather slow and slightly dissociated, but overall his blue field is well defined and the structures have become more simplistic and transparent. He has come to a decision, it appears, and the fact that he is still here tells me I may be finished with him before Pam arrives.

"I checked at Hacienda. She hasn't been seen. I cannot keep calling, or they'll decide I don't trust them anymore," he meets my eyes firmly. "They will contact me. I must be patient."

This is a promising start. "They?"

"Victor Madden and his people."

We have foreseen the possibility. "What do you owe him?"

"Everything. I made a deal with him eight years ago. I didn't realize I made a deal with the devil, but I had no choice."

Sookie believes me to be a good listener. I am, when the occasion calls for it.

"I was passing through Prague when I met Brittany. She was very young, but also very attractive to our kind. Another vampire had designs on her. He would have taken her to her death. I staked him the night I saw him watching her outside her apartment. I thought no one would know, but I wasn't so lucky. He turned out to be Victor's private eye in the entourage of the vampire Queen of Czechia, and Victor happened to be visiting the Queen as an ambassador that same week. He was meeting his spy later that night, and when he didn't show up, Victor sent trackers. They found me and Brittany. They tortured her. Broke her bones." His face contorts. "I agreed to work for Madden in place of the one I'd killed. I was to take a position at the Queen's court, relocate if he ordered me to… Anything. My Maker was no more. I had no one. I swore my fealty to Victor and his master – Felipe de Castro. In exchange, he promised not to report my crime and allowed me to keep her. When they left, I gave her blood and glamoured to forget what had happened."

He hardly knew her. "You bonded her."

"Not then, no. For the next few years, I served Victor and de Castro in many capacities, official and not, in Europe and in the States. I kept Brittany away from my business. Her job was to be in the public eye, and I always knew where she was and what she was doing. She is a very agreeable human. After the Great Reveal, the king needed people experienced in foreign politics. I was called to Nevada. I bonded her before we'd move."

His timing seems significant, for wrong reasons. "You serve the king. You and yours are protected by law."

He shakes his head. I guess the answer before he speaks again: Madden double-crossed him.

"Madden is above that law. I found out some of my assignments weren't sanctioned by His Majesty. Unknowingly, I've been entangling myself into Victor's machinations for years, and I have no proof I was following his orders. He always hides his tracks. He can destroy me without any repercussions. I owe him everything. But I hoped bonding Brittany would at least ensure no one would dare to touch her while I live."

Madden was wise, indeed, allowing Ridley to keep the woman by his side. She was by far the greatest leverage he could have over the youngster, for he made sure no law could protect either the vampire or his bonded from his reach.

"What is your real mission here?"

He shrugs. "The king wants me to learn from _and _spy on you, but he is interested in your success. You make him richer. Madden just uses me to track your every move. He decides what I may or may not include in my reports to de Castro. I'm not allowd to initiate contact or talk to anyone, even his own people, unless they call me first."

Because of Victor, he had to leave Brittany behind. She is Madden's insurance Ridley will not divulge his involvement either to the king or to me. Double games. Double patterns. Still, "They both have enough eyes and ears around me."

"Others don't have my privileges. I have a legitimate access to your records, your computer, your schedule. I can call you any time of night. I can ask you questions others can't."

"What does Victor want you to learn about me?"

"Anything that would help him kill you. It's part of his plans. Unfortunately for him, you're too careful. You sold your old house. Your wife quit her job and doesn't live in Bon Temps anymore. Your child will never betray you. You have a loyal team. Even those who were sent here before me seem to like being under your command. I spoke to a friend before I came here. She said the rumors about your cruelty were an exaggeration. I hoped this new appointment would give me an opportunity to get away from Victor, at least for a while. But I'll never be free unless one of us meets final death."

A contradiction bothers me. Madden has allies who support his claim for the throne; it is not exactly a secret he wishes to get rid of me. Why go through so much trouble to cover his interest in my business _now_? Yes, Ridley is in perfect position to do his dirty work, but taking a bonded human seems excessive. He needs Ridley's silence and complete obedience. Perhaps, his supporters may not know what Victor is really after. Perhaps, I am part of his – and only his – plans. Is he double-crossing his own allies? Is there more to it than my final death? "What have you given him so far?"

"Not much."

Ah. He doesn't _want _to serve Victor. But if he is looking at me for help, it must be at least an equal exchange. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

He pauses, nervously. "There's more."

I raise an eyebrow.

Fear flashes through Ridley. "Your wife."

Fuck. "Go on."

"He believes telepathy is a hereditary trait. If… bred properly, she can produce successful offspring. For profit."

Red. Victor has gone absolutely mad. RED. I shall make him eat his own heart out, over and over. It will regrow, if eaten slowly. RED! RED! RED!

I may show no weakness. With enormous effort, I concentrate on Ridley's voice again. There's an abandoned, isolated complex in Arkansas that used to belong to sheriff Castello. The king hasn't decided what to do with it yet. Victor has been preparing that facility for his experiments. He has already found a human specialist on fertility. He can make a woman pregnant with more than six children at a time.

The more, the better.

Think, Northman! Think! Is this another way to sabotage me? To infuriate me to the point of committing a crime and killing this youngster for no apparent reason? "What proof do you have?"

"Only my word and the word of others."

"Others?"

"I'm not the only one under Victor's sway. He has no respect for sacred blood. He wants to be king. If he succeeds, there will be no law but his law. And if he dares to steel a pledged human from you – one of the most powerful and respected sheriffs in the kingdom – what hope do the rest of us have? No one will be safe."

I wish Ridley were lying. Alas, he believes every word he is saying, and so do I. Those who support Victor fail to see they are heading for a rein of mad tyranny. I have witnessed Madden's perverse treatment of Castello's essence. I have been told of his erratic and paranoid behavior, time and time again. I have seen for myself the abnormalities of his patterns. It is quite like him to have concocted this… twisted, sickening plot to profit from Sookie's gift. To him, she is a breathing commodity with limitations – a human who can read so many minds at a time and will expire in few decades. If turned, she may lose her ability – a risk his plan eliminates with abhorring creativity: she has a womb. She can procreate.

I haven't noticed I've wrapped my fingers around the magical crystal. It is pulsating gently, as if her beating heart is in the palm of my hand. The warmth helps me calm down. There are still questions I must ask. Names. Details. I wish to know who changed Ridley's orders, for he was not supposed to arrive to my area so soon.

He is disconcerted that I am aware of such trifles. "I was told the king did."

"What of Eugene Harold?"

"The Chief Investigator? I have nothing to do with him."

But I have no doubt that Ridley's being here, now, is not a coincidence.

A phone call startles him. "It's her number," he says, hoarsely.

"Tell them you'll have important news only for Victor, very soon. Ask for a meeting in person." I want Madden first.

The conversation is short. I hear every word on the other side of the call.

_"She is fine. Sit tight, do what you were told, and you'll talk to her very soon."_

"There was no need to break the bond."

A short laugh. _"Relax. Master just needed to run a test. You'll rebond with your breather when you return. This weekend, go through every shred of paper in Northman's office. He'll be in Vegas with his child and human. No one will be in your way."_

"I may have something. A lead to his new home."

_"Use Heidi. She's a good a tracker."_

"I must talk to Victor, not over the phone. I need further instructions"

_"What for? You think she's not reliable?"_

"It's not her. It's Northman. He's too canny for me."

_"Wait." _Ridley's hand is shaking. Too young, but smart. _"Okay. After the coronation, he's coming to New Orleans on royal business. Expect a visit in person then."_

"It will be an honor."

_"Don't flatter yourself. You're a pit-stop on his route." _

"I understand."

_"Good. Don't disappoint him. He's _very_ stressed. He wants progress." _

A test. A pit-stop. After the coronation.

I sense my child approach. Through our bond, I briefly explain the situation. By the time she comes into the house, she is full of anger and doubts in Ridley's sincerity. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because I have no one else to go to."

"De Castro is your king," Pam presses. "You've served him for years. Why not him?"

For the first time, I see a semblance of a smile on the vampire's face. It is not a happy one. "Because he's just as ruthless. He'll kill everyone: me, Brittany, Victor… His reputation is his most prized possession and his soft spot. It _owes_ him. If a word gets out Madden has created a small kingdom of his own under Felipe's nose, de Castro will become a royal joke. And I don't want to die for nothing."

His words hold merit, I decide. However, it is not good enough.

I tell Pam to stay with Ridley and go up on the roof. I make a few calls, and the news is disturbing, for they corroborate the youngster's story. I must speak to Edgington next, but not from here.

"Do you believe him?" Pam speaks in Old Norse.

"He seems to be telling the truth as he knows it. I need him under constant surveillance. Cramer will stay with him tonight. Get Lumet to take a shift tomorrow. They can't let him out of sight, not even for a second. I want reports every hour."

While I speak to Cramer, Pam contacts Lumet. They both understand Ridley is not so much as to blink without them noticing.

I tell Ridley he will be staying at the Dexter house with one of my men. "If you get another call, tell Cramer or Lumet, and they will get in touch with me. Do _not _call me directly," I stress to him.

"I need to produce reports, to show I'm doing something."

"Tuesday. You will start with cleaning my office."

He is wise enough not to explain his misbehavior, for I do not care for justifications. "So, now I'm _your_ prisoner?" he asks, glancing around.

I only give him a cold look. I don't take prisoners.

Pam drives me to the Glass house. She is still fuming, and I understand her worry all too well.

"Sookie called me, by the way," she says. "I may tag along tomorrow, wherever it is you two are going. That is, if everything remains quiet until then."

"She called you?"

"Yes. Something about a trip tomorrow night and needing a friend you both can trust. Where are you going, exactly?"

"I have no idea." She has picked a place already? And invited Pam, too?

"You look surprised," Pam notes.

Despite the turbulent night, I think I am. Her zest for life is unquenchable. I find that I wish for a short respite, as well.

I phone Edgington as soon as we are back at the Glass house. I inform him an opportunity will present itself after the coronation, to clean up the mess the clan has made with Victor. "I will handle him. And I expect the council's unanimous support come Tuesday night," I say. I shall demand a final death for de Castro, for there is no other way. I am certain Amun rulers actually count that I will. He is a very dangerous and resourceful vampire – a lethal adversary no king or queen may afford to have, directly or by association. But if I go down, I'll take my allies with me. This risk I refuse to bear alone.

"Kentucky is still upset with you. His bodyguard – the one you broke the wall with – did not recover from his head injury. He died the following night."

What the fuck does that have to do with me? I only threw a fucking phone at him.

Wrong. I threw _more _than that – a tiny knot of my dark magic. Fuck. "King Isaiah is very kind to take such deep interest in his employees, but it is ridiculous to blame his final death on me."

"I know, Eric. But it wasn't just _any_ employee. It was his partner's favorite child. The king gave his word to watch over the imbecile. You can imagine the royal house in Frankfort is going through some personal drama because of the untimely death."

An ordinary night in the undeath of Eric Northman – relive the worst nightmare of my wife's life and my own existence; help interrogate a fairy who fucked my wife; help the above fairy to heal a Were; turn a vampire double-spy into a triple-spy; prepare to kill my worst enemy; and listen to the freshest rumors on royal romance.

"Plus, Isaiah doesn't like you," adds Edgington.

Fuck this shit. "He'll get over it."

The king actually laughs. "Ah, a breath of fresh air. We need more of that. And as much as Kentucky doesn't like you, he hates de Castro even more. With Victor out of the equation, you'll have his vote. Don't mind him."

I thank the monarch for his advice.

"I still don't trust Ridley," Pam frowns. "A couple of nights in your area, and he is offering you everything he knows. Very convenient."

"I called our people in Dallas. No one has seen or heard from Stan's telepath in over a month."

"Fuck a zombie."

If there were another pool table in my library, I would destroy it in a blink of an eye. Of course, why not combine genes of two telepaths to create a stronger generation of mindreaders. Motherfucker!

"Erik! Calm down! We'll get him."

Pam and I spend the next hour discussing every possible angle of the Ridley-Victor operation, who can be included in the team, and how to distract the Nevada spies. I give her the list of the names Ridley provided me with; she will cross-reference it against her own records.

Pam googles 'pit-stop'. It is a term humans use in racing. If interpreted literally, Victor will be passing through my sheriffdom to – where? Arkansas? That is logical, for Arkansas is where his 'small kingdom' is located physically. He will be traveling in secret, most likely with two or three of his men. They all must die. No one will be able to openly link their disappearance to me right away, except for Victor's closest people. Therefore, his organization must be debunked, too. That complex he is preparing to use as a breeding lab will be demolished – I will personally make sure of that.

"It is going to be a large-scale operation. I will need to request manpower from the council. The strike must be coordinated."

"If Victor broke the bond between Ridley and his human as a test, he's experimenting," Pam says, changing the subject. "He'll do it again. Maybe, even to you."

Regrettably, I agree with that. The surest way to dissolve a bond is to kill one of the partners, but… he truly despises me. Final death would seem too kind.

"Do you think what I think?" Pam stares at me. "He doesn't want to kill you anymore."

What else, then? To keep me undead, to torture and humiliate? And if I don't have my connection to Sookie, I will not know what is happening to her. I will be unable to give her strength.

It appears Madden learned his lesson from the time when Sookie was taken by the Twins. He watched me. He is conniving and insane, not stupid.

Ridley was honest when he said no one would be safe from Madden. Those who know of his plans are either as unhinged or hungry for power as he is, or have no choice but to go along, like Ridley.

How do my wife and I navigate through this life of ours? The voices, the X-factor, the politics and the takeover, Victor's monstrous designs… I must tell her, tonight.

She is beautiful in her sleep, and the mere sight of her fills me with content. It is one of my favorite innocent pleasures to let my skin, wet after the shower, soak up her scent, as I arrange myself around her form, bare under the covers. Carefully, I press my lips into the soft, silky smooth skin. Hmmm…

_Sookie,_ I call in my mind.

It is yet another innocent treat – waking her up and finding the immediate loving recognition in her eyes, tinted with dreams she's been seeing. After centuries of being no one to every person I have met, _this _is priceless to me.

"Hey, you're back," she murmurs. "Or have I slept through the day?"

"No. It's still before the sunrise."

She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment, "Well, then, I don't know what you're waiting for."

How _can _I wait to kiss those perfect lips, to taste that divine essence of hers? Just one caress, and I am hard.

This will not do. "We must talk."

She sighs again, this time with displeasure. "Can we talk _and _kiss?"

.

**SPOV**

Wouldn't be the first time Eric chose talking over kissing. This time, however, he was hesitant.

"That bad, huh?"

His face fell a little. "I have a plan. I will kill Victor before I let him lay a finger on you, and…"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Just… tell me already."

He did. A farm to breed telepaths. Barry the ex-bell-boy had gone missing. Some famous doctor was going to turn me into another octo-mom.

"Hell, no. Over my dead body."

Eric blinked.

Woops. "I'm not having children, ever." If my husband weren't… Not going there. "And even if Victor manages to get his filthy hands on me, he's gonna be in for a big surprise." Yep.

"I thought I was the only one you grace with surprises," Eric was as dark as a sky before a storm.

"Can't help it. It sort of gushes right out of me," I was unnaturally calm. Something's really wrong with me. "Remember how I went to Dr. Ludwig for some tests, after we came back from Vegas? We also had a girly talk."

"Girly talk?"

"I haven't had a chance to tell you that part. Dermot had warned me my physiology would change, and Dr. Ludwig confirmed it's happening. I'm more fairy down there than anywhere else in my body." Hilarious; I know, right? "I'll be having my period once a year or so, and my ovaries…" Shoot. It's not simple to explain the process of ovulation to your vampire husband and that you're not going to have it like most normal human women. Fairy females weren't built to have many children to begin with. Wars, iron, and toxins made the matter only worse. "Well, let's just say, by human standards, my chances to get pregnant the conventional way would be about five to eight percent, 'cause I won't have enough eggs. In vitro fertilization won't work, so that leaves only immaculate conception. I doubt Victor can arrange it. He's not that well connected."

This surprise was unplanned. Totally unplanned.

"Are you certain? The artificial method will not work?"

"That's what Dr. Ludwig said. She believes the more fairish I become, the less likely I'll be able to conceive through artificial insemination. Too many side effects. Even if it works in the beginning, the end result is a miscarriage."

After having digested my yesterday's news, he finally asked, "Annually?"

"Uh-huh. Like in Vegas – a couple of days, and then nothing for a year." I was starting to consider myself lucky. "I didn't know I wasn't supposed to use… the regular products. Fairy body tends to reject foreign objects, hence the pain." Tampax, good-bye.

"Foreign objects," he repeated, slowly. "_Any_ foreign objects?"

Goodness… I hadn't lost the ability to blush. "This," I gently brushed my hand against gracious plenty, "is not considered a foreign object."

He twitched under the sheet, "I would not mind to keep it in my pants for two nights."

I just managed to turn a serious conversation into a sex talk. With illustrations. Vampire company was rubbing off on me in a wrong way. "You were saying, about Victor?"

"He will be on his way to Arkansas from New Orleans after the coronation. We'll intercept him when he passes through here, with Ridley's cooperation."

"Is Brittany okay?"

"She lives. You were right about Ridley's ties to Victor."

"Victor won't kill her unless he has no more use for Ridley," I said, after Eric had given me the gist of his conversation with the vampire. The bond being broken, though, could turn out to be not such a bad idea – for her. If she loves him all on her own, she'll know it for sure.

"At the rate events are progressing, there may not be any need for Amun summit. Pam and I brainstormed tonight, but we'll know if we are alone in this quest, after my meeting with the clan."

"How do we pull it off? If there's going to be an attack on Madden's people here and in Arkansas, de Castro will find out. Someone's bound to call him."

Eric thought for a moment. "I may leave it up to Edgington. Perhaps, he can feed Felipe false intelligence that another kingdom is plotting against him. Oklahoma is a viable option. Freyda is still upset with him for snatching Sophie-Anne's lands before she did. We only need to distract him for a few nights, until the takeover."

"Or you can use the time difference. We're two hours ahead of Nevada."

Eric looked impressed. He knew that, right? "That is an excellent idea."

"I want to help." I just couldn't think straight at the moment…

"You're doing more than enough."

I was? "You know what else? When you finally get rid of Victor, you'll make lots of vampires really happy. You'll be getting a bunch of thank-you cards in the mail."

"What?"

Oh. My bad. "Vampires don't sign thank-you cards, do they?"

"Lover…" Eric stared at me in disbelief, "there is no other like you. We'll talk more later. I'm sorry I awoke you."

"I sound like a nut-case."

"You're not yourself. Your reactions are quite… unpredictable."

"You don't know what I'll do next, is that it?"

"I have a theory," he lightened up.

I tackled him for another kiss. I made it long, passionate, and wild. "Did I prove your theory?"

He smirked, "Who cares?"

I didn't get to hear about it, after all: although Mr. Happy wasn't exactly happy about my being out-of-this-world tired, Eric still insisted that I would "sleep it off."

I had no one but myself to blame for his modernized vernacular.

.

**EPOV **

She takes the news better than I expected, but she is exhausted and not herself. Her eyes are closing on their own accord. I breathe in the sweet aroma of her golden hair, as she sleeps, her arm splayed across my chest and her head rested on my shoulder. After a difficult night, heaven, at last.

I have already received two reports from Cramer: so far, no developments. Ridley is in downtime, and Jonathan has his phone.

From my mobile, I check my e-mails, paying half-attention to what I am reading. Nothing important; more reports, bills, statements… A list of workers from Price. They must be glamoured after they will have finished the repairs.

Secrecy is justified (Ridley's words have confirmed my precautions have not been in vain); however, it requires a lot of effort, especially when one wishes to grow roots and settle with a companion. I resent hiding as strongly as I dislike running; recently, my undeath feels more like hiding, though. What will it be like to be King? To live in a palace, constantly surrounded by a throng, every second of every night _and _day? What of my wife? Her shields are stronger than ever, but she will not be able to – nor should she have to – keep them in place twenty-four seven. It will be harder on her than on me; at least, I feel nothing when the sun is up.

She has defied the life she's been taught from childhood, for me. I have broken the laws of my kind for her, as well. Do we not create our own rules and set our own standards? Who is to say I mustfollow the suit and accept the mundane burden like the rest of the monarchs?

I am Erik Norseman. There is _no one_ like me.

Kings come – undead – and go – to their demise. That is the common rule, and I shall not abide by it. I may come as others, through blood and battles, but it shall be a new beginning, and when I go, it will not be to my final death.

I close my eyes and try to relax and think. I am used to operating with complex, involved concepts, simultaneously keeping all the details at the forefront of my mind, but the events of the past few weeks and especially of tonight have created a miniature chaos in my thoughts, for they have been both deeply personal, as well as more formal experiences. The vast array of the data I have garnered is confusing, at first.

I accept a few major points as my foundation and construe from there.

Sookie's magic is excessively powerful and attracts two-natured and fairies when/if in their animal forms. Can it attract regular animals, too?

I see many parallels. The same way my darkness triggered her essential spark and revealed the X-factor, that very X-factor fuels the magic of other supernaturals, with incredible intensity. Raven shifted into a fucking fu dog. Before my eyes, Preston absorbed everything he took from Sookie and turned pure white – healed and healing. It seems there was nothing binding in Sookie's gift. He could have chosen in that moment not to save the Were and to persevere in his fight for life. I neither know, nor do I care why he picked death. Maybe, he was tired of the struggle. In any event, he is no more, and it suits me quite well.

When I drained Colman, I took his life-force. My darkness recycled and added it to the pool of my own powers, like Preston's spark did to Sookie's ancient spirit. Vampires also can heal themselves and others (although my kind utilizes sacred blood to transfer the essence.) When Preston transferred his magic, repaired by Sookie's, to the Were, he mended her broken spine and awoke her dead brain. I am no doctor. I know nothing of breathers' medicinal principles, and I cannot explain scientifically how Preston managed that, but the fact remains he did.

Therefore, if judging from the supernatural standpoint, is it not possible there is a common denominator for all these kinds of magic – the spark, the essence, the X-factor, the shifters' skills? They do not repel one another. They are drawn to and even complete each other, falling in line with the basic law: magic reacts to or attracts magic, sometimes intensifying the dominant properties of its carrier.

Sookie's telepathy, though, seems to remain a completely different attribute and the greatest danger to her life and freedom. There is no telling what Victor may do in his madness, if he finds out his most secret plan is doomed from the start.

Ridley has given me a valuable insight: there is a deep conflict amongst Madden's people. Torn between de Castro and his regent, some of them are searching for a way out. Whom will they turn to? But most importantly, how is it that his fucking majesty knows nothing? He is not blind or slow. He is completely deceived and misguided by his most trusted vassals. Has Madden's widespread spy-net penetrated his surroundings so thoroughly it has corrupted the royal council and even Eugene Harold?

Eugene Harold. What do you want?

I go over every single piece of information I have learned about the Chief Investigator from Eve's reports, through the grapevine, and my own observations. The more I analyze his behavior, the more I become certain of his motivations. All the facts fit. Now, I need to decide how to turn this theory of mine into an advantage.

A new e-mail from Rassini has several attachments. Interesting. _"…could not help but notice signorina Sookie's fascination with…"_ Her birthday is coming. This is a very good idea for a gift. Yes, she will love it.

Excited, I look through the photos. White? Black patterns? The fifth one seems to be perfect. I reply quickly, copying Garry with instructions to arrange for the international shipment.

Nothing from Vlad. I am anxiously impatient to learn why Gòro requested to speak to me and Sookie. Will the meeting shed any light on the nature of the mysterious voices? Will Gòro explain how Niall was able to slip in and out of sealed Faery? There must be a force more powerful than the Great Prince himself…

The sun is rising. So many questions, and so few answers… I can kill my kind with my darkness… How many at once? How quick?…

I do need a distraction. If Sookie has invited Pam, I should bring Cramer along – for extra security. No one will know where to find us…

I wrap myself around Sookie and take one last deep breath of her.

I will exhale when I awake.

.

_A/N next up is the side story "The Night at the Zoo" which I will not be posting here, sorry :(_


	16. Ch 10: History 1001 Part 1

A/N Special thanks to all who faved/R&R and followed DTRT, and to all those who followed the story to my WP site. I haven't started Ch 17 yet, and it seems that Ch 16 cliffhanger could be resolved in a number of ways. I'd love for you to leave a comment on the blog and weigh in, let me know what you think. **  
**

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**Ch 10: History 1001. Part 1  
**

Red Dragon by Fifoux

**EPOV**

As I am looking forward to continuing this entertaining and, despite all the tension, surprisingly… fun night with a long, intimate shower, a phone call from my child delays me from joining Sookie under the steaming water jets.

"I spoke to Cramer," says Pam. On my orders, she has enlightened Jonathan on the brewing altercation, on the way back from the Wildlife Center. "I haven't given him all the details yet, like you wanted, but explained the risks. He understands what is to come. He's in."

Good. "Any word from Eve?"

"She's just confirmed Victor will be secretly visiting Arkansas two nights after the coronation. The exact timing is in a flux. He requested his favorite feeders to be ready and waiting at dusk, but that could mean nothing."

"Ridley will fix it for us."

"You trust him more than I do."

"Only as much as needed. They _will _call him."

For now, though, we have the date, and it is enough to start pulling the rest of our people into the scheme. I instruct Pam to head over to the Southern Nest and meet with Akka Holmes before the sun is up. "And I'll speak to Lumet," I add. I consider it well deserved to distinguish the loyalty of the Northern Nest's head to me: I shall request his participation myself and give him an opportunity to choose one of his trusted nestmates to join the raid with us. I shall need every reliable man I can find.

Sookie's excited anticipation rolls down the bond, distracting and spurring me on, when another call interrupts me yet again, this time – from Fitz Lumet: Ridley's meeting with Madden has just been set for next Tuesday.

As Ridley relays the details to me (an hour past the sunset, the southwest border of Area Five), I realize that, although Eve's report corroborates his words in general, the only way Victor can make this 'pit-stop' so early in the evening is if he flies from New Orleans. Immediately, I am suspicious, for that sector of my sheriffdom does not have a single patch of road suitable for jet landing.

However, the youngster follows up with: "He'll borrow the royal chopper, to stay under the radar," and his explanation satisfies me. Indeed, a helicopter is a much more flexible solution than a private plane for traveling long distances, fast, undetected, and it can land almost anywhere on the terrain. What's important, this bit of information supports the assumption there will be no more than two or three other men accompanying Victor.

The news solidifies the first part of my plan to kill Madden en route to Little Rock. The second part – the simultaneous elimination of his crew in Louisiana and Arkansas – is still feeble, for much depends on Amun rulers, come tomorrow's meeting. Nothing will stop me from leveraging their unanimous support; if they refuse to hear the voice of reason – _my _voice, _my _reason – well, there are always coercion by fear and pressure. They work even with condescending monarchs.

"Still dressed. You okay?" Sookie asks, coming into the bedroom. She looks so fresh, so young, so beautiful… What a stunning contrast between the dark surge of my bothersome thoughts and the calming ambience of her presence.

"I will be in a moment." I push the irksome ruminations aside and begin unwrapping her wet towel, increasingly impatient to touch the warm, smooth skin. It gives me pure delight to find no scratches, no bruises, no irritation, just the flush of the most tender shade of rose… Her nipples harden instantly under my fingertips; her full lips part with a ragged breath, and I caress her mouth lightly with mine, savoring her amazing scent.

"You're miles away," she murmurs, without reproach or disapproval.

Before I deny her innocent observation with proper indignation and convince her of my undivided attention, my mobile rings again. Who the fuck is it now?!

My aggravation, however, disappears immediately once I recognize the out-of-state number.

"Sorry, lover, I must take this." With a quick (alas, too quick) kiss, I bid my wife good night and warn her not to wait up for me.

"You haven't lost your touch," I chide as I answer the phone on my up to the library. "Perfectly perverted timing as always."

"What brought your spirits so high tonight, Norseman?"

"A pair of lions, very ticklish."

"I see. The great Viking steals a moment to chase after a couple of wild cats while the doom of all times is upon us."

"All more reasons to enjoy every second of my undeath while I still can, yes?"

Vlad lets a trace of smile lighten up his tone a notch. "Your pledged is a brilliant woman – teaching an old paperpusher like yourself to enjoy _life,_ no matter what. I reckon many have tried but none has succeeded."

Indeed, Sookie's influence over me is becoming more obvious (I am certain the opposite is true, as well.) "I can only hope you find your special one soon, too, my friend. You need change from the stagnation you call research; it has distorted your perception of reality. Doom of all times – that is overly grim, even for you."

"Tomorrow night, we shall meet," he says, somberly.

That is a complication. "Your timing _is _bad. I won't be able to leave Shreveport to see you, not for long." My arrangement with Edgington and others may not be deferred to another night, but when the Order demands your presence – whenever, wherever – you must obey. A conflict in schedule, indeed.

"I'm aware. That is why _we _will come to see _you_."

The meaning of his words weighs on me heavily, and suddenly I feel like a pawn in a game I do not even begin to grasp. The Ancients hardly ever accommodate anyone (even as exceptional as me), unless…. "Who are _we _and how many of _you_ are there?"

"You'll know soon enough. Just make sure I can enter your home at any time of the night."

I am more than disconcerted with Vlad's vagueness; besides, I do not appreciate being left with no choice. Are _they _coming to the Glass house? Or is there another location in the vicinity _they _deem more feasible for such an important rendezvous? "Only you? What of Gòro?"

"Something happened last night," Vlad replies, "Something that made him open his eye." He pauses for a moment. "His _other _eye."

Gòro's third eye that sees beyond the invisible – the eye of infinite wisdom! The news is both staggering and troubling. "He will be looking for an answer here, with us?"

"I believe so, but do not be concerned with him, brother."

Unfortunately, Vlad's consolation does not have the intended effect on me. "I must admit I am disturbed."

"You may already know what he is seeking, but for now, ask me no more, and not only because I'm as clueless as you."

He must have his directives, then. "I understand."

I do not offer to decorously greet him – _them _– upon their arrival to Area Five, for it is obvious all preparations are handled by the Order with an extreme secrecy and care so characteristic to their every endeavor, no matter how insignificant it is.

Any remnants of joyous disposition I've been harboring are abolished by my conversation with Vlad. The feeling of being manipulated by powers beyond my control or even comprehension does not ebb, and agitation worms into my mind. At least, Sookie is fast asleep; she won't witness my inner turmoil through the bond. How much can I tell her about our visitors without breaking the Ancients' confidence?

I still smell of wilderness, algae, and feline; the musky scents of nature itself do not bother me, but help mask the fairy's trail, strongest near the shelves with a modest collection of Persian manuscripts. I throw myself into work, and only after receiving a short text from Pam not long before the sunrise ("Her fangs R your command,") do I allow for a break. As always, Jacuzzi helps me repose and refocus.

For the time being, I banish any worry of the Ancient Order from my mind, for nothing is to be done until _they _come to me, whereas Victor is a more pressing matter. There is great lot of meticulous background preparations for me and my child to do. Tonight Pam will start working on the list of the possible renegades' names Ridley provided. These are the weak links in Victor's circle we've been searching for weeks; recognizing these vampires who, like Ridley, are caught between the fang and the hard place, may become a strategic advantage in field, for when the time comes, each one of them could aid us just to see their master's fall from grace.

It appears, after all, I will be able to exploit Sookie's idea to use the time difference between Nevada and Louisiana to delay de Castro's response to the attacks. Thus, each of my soldiers must be in their places here and in Arkansas the night before, ready to launch upon the sundown.

Then, an idea to kill many birds with one stone comes to me: instead of spreading my forces thin and attacking various places, I need to find a way to lure Victor's people into a single location – the abandoned complex-turned-breeding lab – and break them down with a single concentrated punch.

Fire?

Explosives?

Dark magic?

Whatever option I choose, I must preserve my main advantage – the effect of surprise, and if Stan Davis' telepath is indeed imprisoned by the mad regent in the same building, I will not risk the mission and try to free the man.

I spend the rest of the night honing my favorite sword and systematically analyzing every possibility that has the potential of increasing the chances of a complete success. In the name of every dragon that has ever guided Viking longships through dangers and death to victory and fame, I _will_ kill that sick, twisted, paranoid son of a bitch and wash my feet in his blood as I'll be watching him flake into ashes right before me. And when I'm done with him, Felipe de Castro will be my next target.

.

Timelineby AQ0106

**SPOV **

After having spent a few priceless minutes of absolute silence, cocooned in a cool Eric blanket, I snuck into the minds of the men working in the house and then probed further around. The neighbors, the guards… all seemed quiet and tip-top. Today was shaping into another great day for practicing mindreading.

As soon as I got into the elevator, I could smell fresh paint – a telltale sign the repairs were in their final stages – and when I stepped out, at first I thought I was in some other house. Just yesterday morning, my home looked like either a redneck bar after a good, old-fashioned drunk brawl, or ground zero of a mini-tornado, and now…

"I can't believe you've done so much in one day," I said to Mr. Price, looking around with astonishment.

"Well," he shifted from one foot to another, "We had to start with…"

It took a minute before I was able to fully appreciate the hard work these men had been pouring into the Glass house. The damage had been more extensive than originally thought: a few cracked glass cabinet doors in the kitchen – my fair share of wreaking havoc; a huge gaping hole where the TV used to be (apparently, my sweetie-pie had crushed the pool table into the wall with the strength of ten oxen); and dents and scratches everywhere from the pieces of debris that had ricocheted all over. Even some of the floor tiles had been chipped and lights broken.

Hell has no fury like a vampire upset.

"We'll be done today," and Mr. Price's imagination lit up with details of how it would look upon completion – new, warm colors of brown and peach; inviting couches; thick, intricately woven carpets…

Yes, one thing to be irrevocably said for telepathy – a picture is worth a thousand words. Pity, this particular picture, as well as many others, would be glamoured away from the contractor's and his men's minds as soon as they would have finished the job. Eric wasn't going to leave a single clue to the Glass house, I was dead certain of it; he was pretty heavy on security these days – more than usual.

Garry was arranging for the furniture delivery later in the afternoon, and I'd squeezed in the cleaning crew before everything would be put in place. Eric was going to spend the last hour of the day in his office in the library while the bedroom would be cleaned and a few things would be moved downstairs.

"I borrowed a few hands from your country house job, but we'll be heading over there after we've wrapped up here," Mr. Price said, when I asked him about the progress in Bon Temps. "We'll catch up to the schedule tonight."

"I can't thank you enough," I said, heartily.

"Not at all, m'am. Not at all."

Nevertheless, whether they'd remember later or not, I was more than grateful and less than comfortable; never in my life had I so many people literally jump for me, and I couldn't entirely get rid of this nagging feeling that I was being treated better than I actually deserved. But as the day grew busier and more hectic, I stashed away my own annoying prejudices against myself and concentrated on what really mattered.

Behind the normal and ordinary, I was, in fact, doing my own thing – training to set and maintain a specific telepathic range – and having a mixed crowd of humans and two-natured around was a perfect testing playground. Yesterday, I learned how to smoothly tune in to up to a dozen brains regardless of their physical proximity and manipulate the clarity and strength of their signals. The trick was not to let everyone in and then to try to narrow down the number of broadcasts, as I'd been doing before, but to start with two or three minds and gradually add more. Today, my goal was to establish and keep a limited zone, at the same time allowing people in and out that zone. An hour into the exercise, I expanded to include the entire gated community under my umbrella, and after adjusting to new brainwaves, I started streaming Otis's broadcast. Every time he saw someone approaching the gates, I would focus on that particular mental border and make it transparent – something completely new for me.

Naturally, I was a bit sidetracked, but telepathic or not, I still had manners. I made iced tea, while Valerie put out some cold cuts and snacks for the workers. Her recovery was miraculously speedy; only a few faded bruises on the face and a slight limp reminded of the crazy fight. Betty's painkillers had knocked my brave bodyguard out for over thirty-six hours straight, so I'd had asked Dermot to babysit Raven while Eric and I would be gone Monday night.

"You like her. I'll help," he'd said. "And I wish to peruse the library."

"How did it go last night with my uncle?" I asked Valerie, looking for pitchers and glasses. There had to be a few survivors of my tantrum, right? "I didn't have a chance to talk to him; he left as soon as we pulled up. Severe vampire allergies."

"He was very kind," she answered, and I could hear a smile in her voice. "Unless I dreamt it, he brought me water and offered to read me something. I'm afraid I was less than polite."

"Whatever you do, don't say thank you: it's binding with fairies, like you owe them."

That startled her. She'd said thank you to me before.

"But it doesn't work with me," I shrugged. I'm not a real fairy, after all. Well, not yet. Hell. Who knows what I am, anyway. "If you want to thank Dermot, he's a great admirer of your cooking."

"You mean… pancakes?" she chortled softly, and color me speechless if that one chortle wasn't loaded with tons of ironical disbelief.

"Yep. Of all the things you can do – go figure."

I gave up on my search and pulled some stemless wine glasses. Finally, sandwiches were made, and everything was served. As if on cue, I registered a familiar face, and a few moments later Otis called for verification: Garry was at the gates with a U-Haul truck. When he passed through the gates, his consciousness floated into my bubble with no effort on my part, and I gave myself the thumbs up.

There was one item in particular I wanted more than any of the new stuff the truck was filled with: a portable, tall, see-through open fireplace that burnt ethanol. I could put it anywhere inside or outside the house. Brushed bronze, eclectic lines – the only item the Glass house was lacking, and I'd already decided on the perfect spot for it.

Mr. Price sent two guys to start unloading, and Garry followed me into the kitchen for a cup of coffee, a stack of envelopes and brochures in his hands.

"Could you give these to Mr. Northman? It's Fangtasia's yesterday's mail," he said.

"Sure thing. Just leave'em on the counter."

"There's one for you, too. Came with DeadEx last night."

I hurried to pop a capsule into the coffee maker and flipped through the letters. A black with purple envelope was addressed to Mrs. Sookie Stackhouse Northman and had the royal eagle embossed for a return address. Really?

A check inside – the payment for my weekend services – was also in black with purple print, but Felipe's personal signature was in gold.

The king had serious color issues.

I looked at the amount last. Garry was watching out of the corner of his eye, and I schooled my face to conceal the unpleasant surprise: one hundred and fifty thousand grand – triple of the agreed sum.

That fanged motherfu…

My phone buzzed, and I quickly stuffed the check back into the envelope. Later, I'll fume later.

"Hey, Alcide. Thanks for calling back."

"No problem. I was gonna call you myself, anyway."

He told me Culpepper had already started eating on her own; Jannalynn wouldn't be able to speak for another day or so (not a big loss there), and Fletch was already home, intensely medicating with beer.

"We're having a bonfire Saturday night," Alcide said. He sounded as if he was back to his confident self. "I'd like to you come. I'll send Eric the paperwork."

I sighed. Gosh, these alpha-males, taking themselves so seriously all the time. "You know there's a difference between business and a friendly get-together, right?"

"Hey, I'm just tryin' to be politically correct here." Yeah, he sounded like the old Alcide all right – minus that hint of a nasty supe-sarcasm he usually employed whenever he mentioned Eric. It had to be a big deal for the Were to have overcome that impulse.

"Appreciate it," and I did. "Sorry, but this weekend won't work – we've already got other plans. Next time?"

_Wantsomecoffee? _Garry raised his cup, inviting my attention, and I nodded, still listening to Alcide's rambling, "I suppose. The least we can do for you."

Something whooshed behind my back, and a deep voice said, "Booh!"

I dropped the phone, and Garry the cup.

"Oh, I didn't realize you had company," said Dermot in his normal voice.

"I need plastic china," I blurted out.

Dermot remained completely unfazed. "Plastic is unhealthy. A pollutant, humans call it."

Garry's eyes went so big they took over his forehead. _Whadafuck?! _

"Sookie? Sookie!" Alcide's voice came weakly from somewhere below. "Hey, what's goin' on? You all right there?!"

Mechanically, Garry started picking bits and pieces off the floor, reaping _WTF _over and over.

"It's okay!" I yelled, scrambling for the damn phone. "Just, uhm, someone came over!"

Valerie rushed in, ready to shift. Good Lord, not _that… _not in front of poor Garry!

"It's okay," I repeated, calmer, but she went around the kitchen, keeping a suspicious eye on both men. The air around her didn't stop vibrating.

"Here," my uncle fished the cell from under the bar stool and handed it to me.

Valerie gave Dermot a weird look. He winked at her, and I vowed to myself to never encourage his sense of humor again.

"Alcide, I'll call you back!" I snapped the phone shut.

For a second no one spoke. We just kept trying not to stare at each other, while figuring out what the normal thing to do next would be.

"This is awkward," the fairy finally commented.

"No kidding," I muttered.

Well, I'd be damned if it wasn't the time for – whatchamacallit – damage control. At least, no one but Garry and me had witnessed the act of teleportation (the kitchen was still separated from the rest of the space by a thick plastic the workers had taped to the walls and the ceiling to keep it clean while they'd be working.)

I grabbed a roll of paper towel and began helping Garry clean up.

"Garry," I made it as casual as I possibly could, "This is Dermot. Dermot – Garry."

"Nice to meet you," Dermot said, a little naughty, sort of like 'whoops'.

My uncle's appearance out of the thin air truly stunned Garry; although being around vampires had increased his tolerance for unexplained and unexpected, it took him a few moments to get a grip. "What the… Who are you?"

"A fairy," Dermot supplied before I'd say anything.

"A fairy_?_"_ FuckinTinkerbelle?!_

"God, no," I said. "No. Fairies are nothing like Tinkerbelles."

_Yougottabishittinme!_ "How did you…"

Crap. "I'm a telepath."

Garry blanched. He stood up, holding the shards in his hands. The dark fluid leaked through his fingers, dripping down on his shoes. He wasn't noticing. His thoughts were darting from the fairy to my being a telepath. The latter bothered him more than the former.

"I took Sookie and her friend by surprise," Dermot went on, inching towards Valerie. "And you smell much better today."

"Tha… Ahm, yes, I guess I do. I smell… Good. I mean, I smell good." She paused, then self-corrected: "Nice of you to notice. I owe you breakfast."

Garry kept the straight face, but even without reading him, I knew all too well he felt fooled and rather betrayed – like any normal person does when he suddenly finds out someone's been sneaking under his hood.

I silently pointed where the trash can was. He cleared his throat, "I can't remember every single thing that has crossed my mind, but if any of it was offensive, I apologize."

"You've been a real gentleman."

Already, he was analyzing my past behavior, starting from his job interview, and picking on little oddities and inconsistencies. "Can you hear me now?"

"It's hard not to. You're sort of yelling at me."

_Myhourseisblackmycatiswhitem ynoseislong…_

I blocked him out. "I'm not the thought police, Garry," I said a bit curtly. "I prefer _not_ to listen, believe it or not."

"But sometimes you have to."

It wasn't a question, and I didn't answer. Surely, if I were the one to tell him – under less stressful circumstances – about my quirk, he would have taken it much better, but stressful circumstances were part of his job. If he wanted to keep it, he had until the nightfall to come to terms with what he'd just learned, and I was absolutely fine with him knowing about me. Fairies, on the other hand, were a secret I wasn't willing to share.

"Garry, you can't tell anyone about Dermot," I warned him. "You can't tell anyone you know about fairies period. And I know you have questions…"

"Sookie," Garry interrupted me, "You don't have to explain anything. I have any questions, I'll ask Mr. Northman."

He gladly excused himself to wash up, and as I was rinsing my hands in the kitchen sink, Dermot wondered if he could visit the library again.

"I'll go with you," I said, grabbing Fangtasia's mail on my way.

We used the elevator this time; no more out-of-this-world transportation. I was silently debating if I should be giving my uncle a lecture on _not _popping unannounced now or after I'd talk to him about Niall.

"You have opened your home to many people today," Dermot said. "Do they not distract you?"

"Not really. It's actually helping me practice."

"And your bonded?"

"If he lets someone into the house, it means he's comfortable."

Dermot didn't offer anything in return.

"You have so much in common with him, Uncle," I said, softly. The lecture would have to wait. "Maybe, someday…" My family by day and my loved ones by night – maybe, I'll be lucky as to see them all together at least once.

"No, my dearest niece, not day," Dermot shook his head, "but, maybe some night," and it was as close to a promise as he would come, without lying.

In the library, he went straight to the bookcases, and I trailed a few steps behind, wracking my brain for the right opening line.

"I saw Niall the other day."

He whipped his head back. His eyes glinted with manic blue, and the shining wall surrounding his mind exploded with anger and longing. _Faery_…

"Niall had upset me very much. I called him." I tried to make myself comfortable on the couch. "I was so sure there was no way he could come even if he heard me I sort of shouted it all out."

"You put all the strength of the emotion into your call," Dermot clarified. Slowly, he came to sit next to me.

"Uh-huh. I modulated it as urgent and distressed as I could. And I really wanted to explain a few things to him face to face. He was… very surprised. Long story short – something's happening in Faery that Niall can't undo – someone or something more powerful than him sealed the final gaps between their world and this, and the Britlingen dimension, too. Faery is…" now, what's the equivalent of that Caelli word in English?…

"Isolated," my uncle finished for me, suddenly becoming very quiet.

The sad conviction in his voice sent chills up my spine. Deformed sparks, hot lava, broken souls, death… "How can you be so sure? They have the ancient spirit. They can't all die." How could the whole world be doomed?

"They will. With no way out, the spirit is now locked within Faery. You know the consequences."

Preston, Faery… Was I seeing the tree and not the forest?

My mind repelled the very magnitude of the assumption. "Niall got here, didn't he? And he said there was still hope. He meant there was hope he'd see me again. That wouldn't be possible if Faery's _isolated_."

Unable to stay still, I got up and began pacing.

"A breath of warmth," Dermot whispered.

I gaped at him, "What?"

"A breath of warmth. I felt it – short lived, light like a feather. I thought the sickness was tricking me. It must have been the spirit seeping into this realm when Niall was given a passage."

"The question remains how he got through. Let's say there's some magic that overruled his and cooped them all up. Then, there's got to be another force that overruled _that _force and yanked Great Grandpa out of Faery." Or could it be one and the same?

"There is an obvious explanation. Remember, your wish is crucial to make the magic work…"

Huh? "It's not obvious at all," I cut him off. "My wish intensifies _my_ magic, not… _this_."

He popped right in front of me, halting my back-and-forth. "You wished to see him, did you not? You called him, did you not? And then you ordered him away, did you not?"

Yes, yes, and yes, but… "You're implying that I'm somehow stronger than Niall. It's…" crazy! "…very far-fetched," I waved my hands in front of me. "I couldn't have possibly opened a gate for him."

"You were upset, you said so yourself. You might have not recognized what you were doing." He grabbed my shoulder. "Don't refuse to accept what you are."

"And what's that, Uncle?" I hardly managed to keep my voice leveled. "Not even fae have a name for what I am."

Something ugly and frightening reared out of the deepest corners of his being, and let me tell you – it was _nothing _like Tinkerbelle. "You are a genuine power," he hissed, "A force of your own. Summoning the Great Prince himself – what more proof do you need?"

He didn't scare me a wee bit_._ We faced off for a few seconds; him – a complete opposite of his naughty-self he'd been not fifteen minutes ago, me – frustrated and reeling with unjustness of his words. _No one_ got to play the self-denial card with me anymore!

The loud ring of the house phone snapped Dermot out his supe-stupor. He dropped his hand and stepped back. I, too, took a deep breath, cooling down.

"It's not the proof that I need," I said, before I'd answer the call. "It's the time. And I don't have much of it."

He retreated to the bookcases while I talked to Otis: the cleaners were here, and I missed them on my mental radar. Dammit!

"Uncle, I've got to take care of some things. Will you stay?" He shouldn't leave like this – disgruntled and anxious.

"If you want me to," he replied, his backside to me. He pretended to be engrossed in reading, all the while projecting a bout of images and echoes in Caelli with an incredible speed. To my overloaded brain, it was a cacophony, and it was grating on my last nerve.

I locked the mail in Eric's desk and left.

Alone in the elevator, I leaned against the wall and shut my eyes, trying to sort through the mental chaos. For the moment, Dermot was unhinging me more than he was helping me. Black, white, red… I blocked him out. I made myself relax. I thought of what I needed to do.

I went through the motions: the cleaners, the movers, Mr. Price's questions… I struggled with keeping my telepathic range steady, because I now had more people to monitor within the zone, and so I started inserting simple filters to thin out the streams of information. It worked for a while; the more people grew tired, the more complicated the filters had to be, and with everything Dermot had thrown at me, mental multitasking became a real bitch.

It wasn't long before Eric would rise, and there was still some tedious work to be done, but I could see everything was coming together just as planned. When they started putting back the light switches and outlets, I decided I was calm enough to check up on my uncle.

He watched me set a plate with fresh fruit on the coffee table.

"I should not have scared that human," he broke the silence first. "It was not a good joke."

I plopped down on the couch. What a day…

"If I knew how to unlock Faery, I would," I said. In truth, I would give it a try – if only I had the slightest idea what I was going up against. I didn't have the luxury of testing the extent of my powers for a flimsy possibility I could open a tiny crack between the two worlds. Even if I succeeded, how long would I be able to keep it open? How was "a breath of warmth, light as a feather" supposed to cure fairies here and there? If Eric were here, he'd say the risks didn't justify the outcome, and I'd have to agree. My instincts were telling me I needed to know more before jumping off the cliff, and I'd grown to really trust my gut. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure Dermot would understand where I was coming from; yet, I didn't want him to think I was hesitant for the wrong reasons.

"Sookie," Dermot touched my hand with just a tip of his finger. "I spoke unfairly to you. I won't deny my love for my homeland overwhelms me at times, but I do not expect you to take the burden of the world upon you. That is a task fit for titans – not a single person. I only meant for you to see how extraordinary your talents are. Not a speck of them should be left unfulfilled, but not at the cost of harming yourself."

I glanced around: there were a few books stacked on the floor in what I reckoned to be some form or Arabic. "What are you reading?"

Dermot looked disappointed I changed the subject. "Human tales of the old world," he responded. "It is fascinating."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Times mesh. Reflections tell more than words."

Obscured Fairish, again.

The bond fluttered, and, involuntarily, I held my breath.

"If only you could see what _I_ see, hear what _I_ think," Dermot murmured. Our eyes met; the shining wall protecting his mind parted, inviting me in, _I hide nothing. _Through the prism of Dermot's magic, my own appeared incandescent, yet tender, warm, and peaceful, mixed with the ice blue of the bond. _His blood is strong in you, but yours is stronger._

Then memories came in waves, carrying like offerings feelings, impressions, and echoes from his young days in Faery, through wars and scars, kills and sacrifices, love and loss, betrayal and curse, to his present in human realm. It was nothing like being inside Eric's head or being taken by his vampiric _stormr_. This was a journey through times and places that didn't exist anymore or had been denied to Dermot; a path that meddled among creatures most of whom had lived and died centuries ago. Sometimes, I'd see things distorted, as if in carnival mirrors – red faces filled with rage, or angel's affection in a woman's eyes; other times, there were misty gaps and hollows where memories used to be – these were the traces of the curse or the sickness, as he called it. Every once in a while I'd catch a glimpse of a familiar site or a reverberation of a sweet-timbered voice, singing a familiar song… Again, I saw Dahlls dressed with crescent-shaped leaves, and tasted of deceitful waters of the Narrow River, rolling calmly on the surface, while concealing virulent currents in the dark depths. I stood in the shades of the colossal trees and felt the indescribable joy and humility born out of being touched by something greater, unimaginably older than oneself. I saw the tall white columns, walked through the grand halls where shadows were whispering softly, and a breeze running through the corridors lightly ghosted over my skin.

There was equilibrium here. Force. Light. Meaning and purpose. Darkness. From the beginning of the worlds. Until the end of the worlds.

A part of me knew those were more than images and feelings; they were also the very symbols of how my uncle thought of me – the ancient spirit, life, bond, undeath – a strange circle of magic. That is why he felt he had the right to teleport himself into my kitchen without warning, because it was as close to a real home as he'd had in decades, or even centuries. That is why he felt safe to reveal himself to a stranger – because he was in my home, under my care.

_Sookie…_

I withdrew, speechless, unable to express how humbling of a gift he'd just given me. That wasn't only his past; those were my roots, too.

"Thank you for your hospitality, my niece," he said, faintly smiling, and it seemed as if his own spark was smiling at me.

He dematerialized, and I stood for a second, completely overwhelmed. My skin still tingled with the chill of the breeze, and in my mind, I could still see a maze created by the sun rays penetrating the dense mass of the red crescents…

_Sookie, _thudded, stronger. Eric's presence filled the bond, stretching it, tugging at me.

I popped right next to the waking Viking. He didn't waste any time, wrapping his arms around me, and from his protective and confused mood I knew he was going to ask me what had agitated me so much until he was blue in the face, which for an undead guy wasn't all that hard.

"Not now, okay? I'm fine," and I leaned in to kiss those pale eyelids, generously brimmed with long blond eyelashes. His tension dissipated, as he mellowed down, letting our love work its magic on the both of us.

_This_ moment was worth living in.

He hummed, appeased. "We should play a game," he said.

Against my thigh, I could feel his excitement. "Catch me if you can?"

One blue eye peeked at me with mischievous disapproval. "No if's, woman. I can, and I will."

I laughed, for the first time today. "Come on, big guy, get out of the bed. They have to bring a few things down here, and you need to get ready for your meeting."

"This is not how I'd like to wake up."

I touched his lips with mine, carefully. "You'll catch me some other night. I'll even let you cheat a little."

Eric rolled over, pressing me under his long body, and deepened the kiss, and my traitor arms and legs wound around him, molding me to his frame. We hadn't had sex since – what, Saturday? – and having extremely aroused Eric on top of me was making my panties impossibly wetter by the second. My resolve shaken, I yanked the sheet away to get a better feel of my favorite part of him. One small move of my hand, and I could have his other (no less favorite) part in my grip. Or in my…

"Eric, we really need to get out, now," I heaved.

He pulled himself up on elbows and muttered something in his ancient language. The tips of his fangs glistened against his lower lip.

"You hungry?" Men are always grumpy when they are.

"For you – always."

I smiled. "Take some."

The sharp fangs slid all the way out, and my heart skipped a beat.

His tongue swept over my overheated skin once, twice… "My Sookie," he whispered, and I felt his hand under my sundress.

[Edited for mature content]

There was only here and now. There was only Eric.


	17. Ch 10: History 1001 Part 2

**Ch 10: History 1001. Part 2  
**

Smoke by Beatqas

**EPOV**

The house is full of people, indeed. Within my field, I register a dozen of weres, including Taylor Price and Raven, and I can hear several humans upstairs, cleaning, bustling about industriously, and chatting in various languages, reminding me of noisy Hacienda. Another pair of breathers is working in our underground chamber, and while I accept the necessity of their routine intrusion, I am far from being thrilled: I do not care for strange scents tainting my lair.

Even before entering my working area, I know Dermot has been in the library again, perusing. Not only do I smell him on Sookie; it seems as if everything here is permeated with his scent. I ask her to have the house thoroughly aired after I am gone; I would not want to tempt my guests in any way tonight.

"Doesn't it get easier for you, not a smidgen?" she replies, with concern. "I'm around you all the time; I'd think you'd be getting used to the fairy scent by now, build up tolerance."

Perhaps, she is right, and the vampire catnip does not arouse me as it ordinarily would, only causing a dull discomfort in my groin and an itch in my fangs – a reaction I can equally attribute to my unrelenting desire for my wife, completely unrelated to her being part-fae. Her unique aroma always leaves me hungry for more. This evening, though, I only drank from her. She shared her pleasure with me through the bond – bright and erotically sensual…

Sookie's heartbeat picks up; lustful blush is filling her sun-kissed skin again, and with a growl, I detract myself from the exciting images, flashing before my inner eye.

I have a very important night ahead of me.

While the computer is loading, I glance through the mail, and Sookie shows me the check from de Castro's financial offices.

"Sheer gal," she says, with disgust. "If it's a pay-off, I wonder what he thinks he's paying for."

I drop the black piece of paper on the desk before me. This _is_ a lot of money – for loyalty? Silence?

No, I decide. Money is a way to rattle her and remind to her – us – who has the final word. She is a modest, yet proud woman. Honest and hardworking. He is pushing her buttons. Abasing her. Me.

"You fulfilled your contract and even went beyond what had been agreed upon," I reply, remaining rather indifferent to the king's gesture. It will take something more substantial than fucking money to rattle me. "He compensated you for the services rendered accordingly. Waste no more breath on this, lover."

"You think I'm letting that colorblind jerk get to me, but I'm not." She folds the check and slides it into her pocket, "I will put it to good use. Although, I'd love to burn this… graveyard meal ticket with that effin' dress."

"As you please, but not tonight. Vlad is coming to visit."

"I thought he was too busy to travel."

"I expect he'll arrive sometime after midnight. He may not be alone, but you will invite only Vlad."

A tiny crease appears between her eyebrows as silence ensues. "You can't tell me who's coming with him," she states a fact.

"No." Should Gòro choose to show himself to Sookie, she will find out on her own. If not, I prefer to interfere with the Ancients' business as little as possible.

For a few moments she is mulling over my news.

"O-okay," she finally drawls, thoughtful. "Is he staying for the day, too?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, you're just a well of information tonight, ain't you," she says, with a sigh. "I better get back down there and see how they're doing. There's some fresh True Blood in the fridge; will that do for Vlad?"

There is never a lack of courtesy and charming hospitality in Sookie, whether she is in charge of a farm house, the Glass house, or a palace. "He is not the exacting kind, unless your uncle's scent tempts his restraint."

"Hey, fangs off my family," she retorts, indignantly; underneath, though, there is muted laughter. "Oh, and speaking of fairies: Garry may ask you about them."

According to Sookie, not a few hours ago my day man has made his acquaintance with Dermot, who introduced himself as a fairy. "Uncle's prank shook him up a little," she adds, "And I told him I read minds. He handled it all pretty well."

While I trust Sookie's judgment with having revealed her ability to Garry, I find her kin's actions extremely irresponsible: however, she assures me Dermot understood he did wrong and will not err in the future. "It's not an excuse, of course, but he feels he belongs here. It helps him a lot – he's still recovering after the curse."

I frown. Have I been too hasty allowing the fairy into our home? He may be more unstable than I assumed, unable to control himself.

When I express my doubts, Sookie only smiles "You, me, this house mean more to him than you know. He'll kill anyone who tries to hurt me."

Our tie swells with conviction, love, protectiveness, and infinitely more, in layers some of which are not directed at me. I am intrigued and even a bit jealous another man evokes such profound appreciation in her.

"Whatever you believe you owe him, Sookie – you don't," I cannot help but caution her. "Family or not, he is a fairy. He'll never be or think like you."

"I know exactly how he thinks," she thrusts her chin up, "And I didn't just scoop a bunch of words in Caelli."

"You sound quite certain," I let skepticism color my voice.

"That's because he let me read him, from A to Z. He _asked _me to."

The more she defends him the less inclined I am to accept that Dermot's supposed openness was genuine. "Did you not find his request strange, Sookie? And how did he learn you can read fae?"

"He's weird, not stupid. He figured it out by how quickly I've picked up Caelli," Sookie replies, growing exasperated. "You're very suspicious of him, and I understand it's in your blood an'all, but…" Suddenly her eyes lose focus; the bond ripples, diminishing, as she is withdrawing, listening, hearing what I cannot.

The next instance she blinks, becoming aware of her surroundings again. "Mr. Price is looking for me," and with that she gets up, about to leave. "Let's finish this when you get back home. I just… I can't squeeze it all into five minutes, which you, by the way, don't even have," she waves her hand in the direction of the computer.

Fair enough.

With less than an hour before the sundown, there is much to be accomplished, for in addition to my regular workload, there are several annoying requests from the New Orleans royal office regarding the weekly report I submitted last Friday. Compton has sent his itinerary for the month: he will be departing the same night Sookie and I leave for Vegas; and there is an update from Senator Maloney: the marriage law proposal has passed the second reading in the Congress and will have its third and final reading by Thursday. His P.S. comments on how seriously the public has been treating the suicide incident, pushing the police and the elected officials to investigate the Fellowship of the Sun and other anti-were and anti-vampire groups. I spare several minutes browsing the Internet and reading the latest reports. Steve Greenberg, Shreveport Times reporter and my secret weapon, is actively engaged, keeping the topic on the front pages.

When Pam calls to check in for the night, I am nearly through with the area business. I tell her to pick up Ridley and meet me at Fangtasia.

"Keep him busy and by your side until I get there. And have him clean the mess he made in my office," I remind her.

"Sure will," she replies, and I can almost see the smirk on her face. She does not like Ridley and makes no secret of it, but she will not cross the line between careful and openly hostile, of that I am confident.

I find Sookie in our underground quarters, arranging books in a new narrow, open bookcase in the lounge. Her choice of furniture and additional fixtures resulted in the space appearing more spacious than it is, and the small office less formal and very comfortable.

"You like-y?" she glances at me.

"Very much," I keep our eyes locked. What else can a vampire want?…

I dress with care, tucking the crystal under my new shirt.

"Do you know where Alluni's taking you this time?" Sookie asks, brushing and braiding my hair.

"Somewhere outside Louisiana. We'll fly from the same airport as before."

She is worried, but manages her side of the bond rather well. "If there was ever a Viking who could look as good in a suit as he does in pink spandex that's got to be you."

I value her efforts not to overburden me with her trepidations through the bond. "You haven't seen me in fur yet, girlfriend. I make leopard print irresistible."

She laughs softy, "You're such a diva. How Rassini puts up with you is beyond me."

There is still a small matter of enforcing security. For everyone except Price I am an international broker (human, naturally) who keeps late hours, somewhere downtown; and while this cover story is simple, there are more minds to work on than I fucking care for.

In the library, my wife asks for a moment of the _ladies' _time, and as five pairs of eyes fix at me, I decide on a new approach – glamouring them all at once. Sookie's surprise comes as an affirmation my test is successful.

"I didn't know you could do that," she notes on our way down.

"Neither did I." The impressive progress of my powers still continues in leaps. "We shall try something more complicated now."

We agree on a trigger phase, and I adjust the weres' memories, instilling a condition for the actual glamour to unfold and erase the location and the layout of the Glass house from their minds once Sookie uses that phrase. A few more touches to make the transitions smooth, and they go back to work as if nothing has happened.

"That's twelve," Sookie says. "I wonder what your limit is."

But although this new development is an incredible improvement of my skill, all that occupies my thoughts from the moment I leave home is the Amun meeting. At Fangtasia, I shut the door to my office, not wishing to speak to or hear anyone, scanning as far as my darkness will reach for Alluni's energy signature.

I find nothing. When he finally arrives with a half-hour delay, I admit to myself I have been growing unduly anxious.

In the car on the way to the airport, Alluni shows me a text message from Russell Edgington: "North won. Must strategize. Deliver now."

I return the phone to Alluni, having taken note of the time stamp: the message has been sent a few minutes ago – the reason for his delay.

"I take it the votes are in," I say. Clearly, they have started without me. I should have foreseen that.

"Unanimous decision: Victor has turned out to be a mistake that begs correcting," Alluni confirms. "They will be tempted to leave the details for you to hammer out."

"Then strategizing is my task, not theirs."

"It's Victor's master they worry about. Madden would kill him without involving the clan. With you, though, some feel less protected from unfavorable fallout."

Alluni's frankness only augments my intention to elicit actions from the Amun council and not mere words, for actions will bind them to me better than any verbal commitment of support. They have to dirty their hands, too.

It is an hour later, when, finally finding myself in the company of the kings and queens in flesh and blood, as well as via video, an amusing thought occurs to me that soon I may be the only undead monarch with fairies for in-laws I have no wish to drain.

Tonight, seven of the most powerful Amun vampires have personally joined Edgington, who is hosting the gathering in a large conference room at one of his official human-friendly enterprises. Indiana has given his voting rights to Mississippi, and the rest have been tele-conferenced in through secure lines.

Edgington presides at the head of the table; his guests are seated to his right, and large screens installed along the south wall are to his left. Never the one to waste a chance to show his superiority without antagonizing his peers, Mississippi does not need so much as to turn his head to see us all, whereas everybody else in the room have no choice but to twist their necks when he speaks.

But while Edgington's rank allows him to enjoy the additional psychological advantage over the debate his strategic placement gives him, my position at the other side of the table across from him is a cleverly arranged acknowledgement of my subordinate status: just a sheriff, when _I _speak, only few make an effort to cast a glance at me. Singled out, I am told without words: ally or not, you're not yet one of us.

I do not give a fuck.

"… rely on his combat experience," King Russell is saying to Roxanni Prescott, the olive-skinned, hairless Queen of Iowa. "All I need to know is that Madden will be dealt with before we gather again. Eric must do the fighting as he sees fit."

Nguyen A-Kym who was sent to me as Iowa's representative along with Alluni and Drake Crippen is also here, standing behind Queen Roxanni's chair. His jacket is bulging nearly imperceptibly on the right side where a weapon (most likely, a dagger) is concealed. My own tantō sheathed in a special holster is strapped securely to my ankle and has been left undetected by the guards at the doors.

"I am compelled to agree," Iowa slowly looks around, and the large diamonds in her earrings beam in the bright light of the halogen lamps. "Northman should handle Madden without disclosing the details to the council."

"Yes," says green-eyed queen of Minnesota, followed by Kentucky's cold "Why not".

As predicted, the council accepts my first – superficial – condition: I will 'handle' Madden without revealing where, when, and how, so long as it is done before the next informal meeting of Amun – a week after Felipe de Castro's coronation.

I thank the council for the trust they put in me (carrot), and proceed with the stick: "Madden has built a large organization. I will need good fighters and intelligence on his affiliates." As I give an estimated number of bodies I require, someone snorts rudely.

"Are you starting a war out there, Northman?" the screechy seven-centuries-dead Wisconsin interrupts me.

I have no way of scanning the king's energy, for he is far beyond my globe – in his palace, where human technology makes it possible for him to have a virtual seat at this table.

"I am preventing one, Your Majesty," I answer, calmly.

"The point is to avoid an open altercation between us and Narajana. You do realize that if you kill Madden's people, you will be effectively killing de Castor's people as well. He will retaliate."

Edgington runs his eyes from my face down to my hands laid flat on the polished maple surface of the table.

"I do realize that. I also realize it is a necessity." I do not twitch a muscle under Edgington's sharp look. "King de Castro must be distracted for a few nights with false intelligence that will convince him _not _to retaliate, at least not right away. If he goes through political channels and his spy network first, that will buy us enough time."

"And you have the means to distract him?" Isaiah of Kentucky speaks up. His patterns indicate apprehension; his outward demeanor, though, is strictly businesslike.

"I do not. You do."

My words make more than one head turn, and there are spikes of light blue around me, indicating interest and disbelief.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Wisconsin scowls at me.

"Blame Zeus."

"Out of the question! It's too risky…"

"Then why don't you turn the fucking cameras off and go drain some filthy bloodbag," suddenly Minnesota snaps. "That's all the risk you can handle, you… mummified dick of an impotent baboon!"

I recall what Sookie uncovered in Sin City about these two – Wisconsin and Minnesota had broken up under less than amiable circumstances, and now it is evident their personal feud is affecting the clan's politics.

The queen's ill-natured remark provokes an unguarded argument around the table. I watch and listen, waiting and picking on minor cues and details about each one of the crowns. At the first sight of royal fangs, though, Edgington loses patience and firmly stirs the royal brainfucking session into a more practical brainstorming mode: who will take part in setting up Zeus, namely Freida of Oklahoma, and how. Tennessee and Michigan suggest sending two or three pseudo-spies to Louisiana and Arkansas for reconnoitering – as if for Zeus – in order to lay a foundation on which the rest of the diversion will be built, and Missouri concurs, "The sooner the better."

As I scrutinize each light blue field, I see their patterns beginning to flow in a more coordinated manner, but is that enough for a unanimous decision?

"You don't talk too much, Northman, do you?" Roxannie Prescott remembers I am also in the room. How kind of her.

"Only when I have something to say, Your Majesty."

She throws her head back and laughs. "Ahh, this is why I picked you over that self-indulgent blood-waster. Victor is completely devoid of sense of humor."

"But he agreed to share what Northman declined," Wisconsin says, still displeased. "Madden personally assured me I would have access to telepathic services any time I wanted. _I _think your favorite sheriff here just wants to kill him out of jealousy over a human."

One after another, all heads turn to me, expecting a denial.

"Yes," I simply confess. The room suddenly grows completely quiet. "I am jealous over a human – _my _human. My bonded and pledged. He _covets_ what's mine. He _conspires_ to take what's mine. For _that,_ I will destroy him and his."

No one responds. My statement is of my rights regardless of my feelings. I notice King Isaiah watching me intensely, and I meet his gaze, "If Victor covets what's yours, will he hesitate to conspire against each one of you? And then, Your Majesties, ask yourselves – are you sure he hasn't already?"

A small, satisfied smile appears on Edgington's face. Alabama shifts uncomfortably, "We get the picture."

I lower my head, showing due obedience and meaning none. Royal fuckers.

Conflicted, Kentucky stares at me for another moment, then looks back at Edgington, who gives a small nod.

It seems I have just won over a vote.

"Now that we're done with Northman's personal motives," Minnesota raises her voice, "I have to say I don't care. He wants Madden dead – surprise! We _all _do; he's crazy! So, if no one has anything else constructive to add, let's vote on this diversion plan and get back to business." She tosses her hair back over one shoulder and adds in an acerbic tone, "Some of us actually have to fly back home."

"There's a more sensitive issue we must address," Edgington resets the mood once the procedure is honored (only one 'nay' – Wisconsin.) "King de Castro. Eric, tell us what you've learned."

Concisely, I explain Nevada's position regarding Arkansas and Louisiana. "He will not forfeit Sophie-Anne's states," I conclude. "He will continue exploiting them – to what end I do not know."

"This is a complete opposite of what my sources have been telling me," King Isaiah objects.

"With respect, Your Majesty, there are enough casinos in Louisiana to bring profit if managed properly. In King de Castro's words, he is going to take control over the gambling industry in my state."

"The diplomacy is no use," Edgington sums it up. "Suggestions?"

Ah, finally. We have arrived to the very core of the issue not one of them has been bold enough to speak of aloud in front of the entire clan.

"Kill him," Jean Paul of Missouri says, firmly. Good. Someone is ready to make his hands _real _dirty.

"Bloody wise idea, Jean Paul. And whom do we blame for that? Zeus again? Or little green men?" Wisconsin laughs mockingly. "Eh, Northman?"

I lean back in my chair and join the tips of my fingers. "No. We blame Victor."

.

Hope .. by Ash-3xpired

**SPOV**

I woke up with a jolt – a single burst from Eric made my skin rough with goose bumps.

"Easy there, Viking!" I muttered, running my hands up and down my arms.

Dark and quiet, the house was finally empty; it was only me and Valerie somewhere outside. My head was buzzing with a complete silence after a long period of a disorganized noise – and it suited me just fine.

I started the fire and threw a pillow on a sinfully soft carpet in front of the fireplace. I liked watching flames and letting the heat toast my cheeks a little: it reminded me of long winter evenings when my grandmother, Jason, and I would gather up by the fireplace and roast endless marshmallows for dinner.

I snuggled into the pillow, and the next time Eric woke me, it was in a much subtler way, and most importantly – in person.

"Hey, how'd it go?" I asked, sitting up.

He took off his jacket and threw it on a nearby couch, then lowered on the floor by my side. "I will have enough men and no strings attached to take care of Madden."

I scooted closer to remove his tie and undo the top buttons of his shirt. "And the takeover?"

"That too."

He patiently waited until I was done, all the while remaining awfully calm for someone who'd gotten what he'd asked for. Maybe, he'd gotten some more, too?

I let him be; after the challenging night, he really needed to… just be.

Eric watched the fire for a while, consumed by his thoughts. "This is a perfect addition to the house, lover," he finally said, turning to me with a smile, "Our home feels better than I could have ever imagined."

"Yeah, not bad for a day's work. They did a great job, though."

Eric ran his knuckles down my cheek, "Have you eaten?"

"Mmm-hhmm."

"You need to spend more time in the sun. To rest."

I just sighed; from his lips to God's ears.

The Viking wrapped his arm around my shoulders, "Come here, wife."

"Do you think Wisconsin is capable of going against his own people?" I asked with doubt when he'd finished giving me the gist of his meeting. There was so much bad blood between the king and his royal ex he could do anything just to rock her boat, including voting against everything the rest of the clan had approved anyways.

"There is always that possibility, but that is the risk I have accepted."

I settled behind his back and loosened his hair. Slowly, I slipped my fingers into the silk of his mane and began massaging with the tips.

"I redid the wards around the house," I told him, "And added a new one to make our bedroom and the bedrooms upstairs fairy-proof." My half-ass argument with Eric about Dermot had gotten me thinking: if my uncle could pop anywhere in the house, could he teleport directly into my bedroom downstairs like me? And what if another fairy did, with Eric resting there during the day?

"Very impressive. How did you learn to do that?"

"I modified a space restriction spell Dermot taught me so that no one but me can teleport into those rooms." Adding that exception had been more difficult than tweaking the spell itself, and it had wrung the last out of me, but I was happy with the result.

He tilted his head back, pressing against me, and shut his eyes, like he was taking a short break from whatever was bothering him.

"Tell me about Dermot," he asked.

I could see expressions playing across Eric's face in the flickering yellowish light. I didn't try to distinguish one expression from another: they were all him, and his, and I loved them all.

"He showed me things," I said, quietly. "Wonderful, amazing things. He made me one incredible lifetime richer. I wish I could show you, too."

He sat straight again, pulling away a little. "You were right," he said, in a muffled voice, "I was – still am – apprehensive of him."

Possessive jealousy – the strangest kind, yet not completely unexpected – resurfaced in the bond like a bump on a wide, unwrinkled road.

"It's not about Dermot, is it?" I murmured. A vampire, Eric was missing out on my life during the day. He wanted to have what Dermot could, but it was impossible.

"He is important to you," my husband said, and the bump was gone as smoothly as it appeared. "I must rethink his position in my circle."

"Dermot is family. That's his position," I slid down on the carpet, sitting shoulder to shoulder to him, and the fire behind me started warming my back again. "And he's a history – my history. Everyone needs history. Besides, he's even more thrilled with my powers than you. He thinks I reopened Faery and that's how Niall was able to get here when I called."

That snapped Eric out of his fire-gazing mood in a blink of an eye. "His exact words?"

"Rephrasing: my wish to see Niall made some magic unseal a passage and let him in and out. This magic is apparently stronger than Niall's. I'm thinking whatever this force is it's responsible for cooping Faery. And, Dermot believes Faery is now isolated."

"In the same manner as Preston's spark?"

"Precisely. But the rub is – how can that be? Isolation occurs when the spark cannot connect with the ancient spirit. If the whole world is completely cut off, there shouldn't be any danger – they still have all the magic they need."

"Did you ask Dermot?"

"Not really. We got sidetracked by the subject of my… nature." That earned me a quirked eyebrow. "It doesn't matter. He believes what he believes – Faery is doomed."

Eric returned to observing the fire. "The possibility of massive isolation implies the ancient spirit comes from or depends on an outside source."

"What if Niall closed the portals and inadvertently cut off that pipe-line, too?" I said. "Maybe, he thought he could keep enough holes for the magic to flow, but miscalculated."

"The Old Temples where your Great Grandfather lives," Eric nodded cautiously. "According to Preston, Niall's powers are directly tied to that source. No source would mean weakened powers."

"Niall cut the branch he sat on. Yeah, I can see how that would work." Preston had said something else I hadn't recognized at the time, but now his words rang clearly in my mind. "The magic within those walls is believed to be from the beginning of the worlds – older than Faery itself," I cited. That's how Dermot thought of this mighty force – from the beginning of the worlds, and both fairies regarded equilibrium as its inherit attribute…

"That is how my kind refers to the darkness," Eric said, and the elusive connection I was about to nail down escaped me.

"Wait, what?"

"The essence." He paused, distracted. "It came from the beginning of the worlds, and no one knows the origins of it."

"That's not a coincidence."

"No," he said abruptly. "It is another parallel."

"Between?…"

Without warning, Eric crouched in front of the fire, staring into the flames as if seeing something. If it weren't for a clear signal of danger coming from him, I would have thought he'd gotten a heat stroke.

"Have you invited anyone else but Vlad?" he said, in a voice tense as a bow string right before the arrow pierces you between your eyes.

"Only him. I didn't want to make him wait outside if you weren't home and I was asleep…"

Eric backed away.

"What? What's wrong?"

He glanced at me, "Do you hear anything unusual?"

I dropped the shields and perked my mental ears up, looking for another void, but there was none other than Eric's.

There was no Valerie either.

Before I'd get surprised or horrified, with vampire speed, Eric was on his feet. His back to me, he took a protective stance, and I caught a glimpse of metal over his shoulder.

The surge of heat from the fireplace suddenly scorned my bare arms from behind. The flames shot up, blazing, and their reflection danced on a blade of a sword pressed into the side of the Viking's neck.

"Norseman," a deep voice said. "You've gotten rusty."

_Annotation available on the blog.  
_

_A/N I haven't written a single word since I posted Ch 16 - thanks to RL and my absentee Muse. But it seems as if this unforeseen break from fanfiction is helping me get my thoughts and mood back on track and write again, so hopefully this weekend I'll be able to finish the outline and finally decide who's going to die, who's going to fight whom, and all that jazz. I know how the chapter will end, so now I'm just figuring out how to get there with a bang and a 'ah!' If you have any ideas, feel free to share :) Thank you my dears!  
_


	18. Ch 11: The Origins What am I? Part 1

**Ch 11: The Origins. Part 1  
**

_ Musical sign – an audio file available on the blog, embedded into the text; click to play with default Audio Player on your computer, or a new browser window will open to play from URL. Minimize and continue enjoying the story._

_**Excerpts from "On Races of the Supernatural World"**_

_Poltern, or true poltern – a friendly intelligent spirit that commands the four elements – water, air, earth, and fire – in constant efforts to maintain order. True polterns repel chaos in any form and thrive in an organized and clean environment. _

_Polterns came from the Lost Lands – a world (worlds) either ruined or forbidden to them probably in the early fifteenth century when a massive purge of these spirits into human and other realms took place. Very soon, polterns found their best shelters in homes with strong emotional bonds and became the keepers of the cleanness and order. Striving to secure a new homeland, most of them fused with the dwelling, becoming one with the physical structure. Since houses in that era were poorly built, fire, wars, earthquakes, and other disasters led to their being either demolished or destroyed otherwise, and those spirits that were fused to such a building perished as well. It is unclear to me, however, if the death of a fused spirit is a direct result of the physical destruction of the house or of its being forsaken by the habitants. At the turn of the century polterns, by now in high demand, began protecting themselves with magical spells, and a special ritual known as summoning was created in order to communicate and invite the spirits into a house… _

_…Polterns have no body; they exist as a form of energy. They never speak or show themselves to other species. Polterns are believed to be emotional entities, for they feed off the habitants' emotions; therefore, positive environments will make for a strong and devoted spirit. In unhappy households, the poltern consumes the negativity, which overtime corrupts him or her, leading to a formation of an evil spirit. The latter is sometimes confused with poltergeist. The most obvious difference between the two is that the converted poltern will not stop until he exiles the habitants from their own house, including by means of death, and then leaves in search of a new home, while poltergeist haunts a particular person rather than a house itself…_

_…Homed poltern considers itself a living part of the house and is extremely attached to the habitats. Particulars of its long-term behavior in a nurturing, happy household are a mystery to me, for I have not encountered a single breather in possession of such an entity, and while there is still a significant number of polterns in dwellings of those other than my kind, not one is willing to share their knowledge of a true poltern with a vampire – it is believed to bring bad luck since we have no homes and are considered creatures of the night, death, and destruction. _

Unleashed by titusboy25

EPOV

I fly home from the airport. The wind scrapes my face and rushes between my clothes and body, refreshing me physically, and I let my energy circulate freely to cleanse and restore the natural flow of my patterns.

Tonight, I have won a battle but not the war. Eleven kings and four queens have agreed on all critical points of my takeover scenario, while Wisconsin did not concede to the overwhelming majority. After declaring me the most arrogant and reckless subject he has ever encountered, he tried to refute openly my right to autonomy as a future monarch. It is clear that, apart from his greed for Sookie's talent, his favoring human trafficking is yet another reason the king is extremely resentful of me, and his personal wrangle with Minnesota only contributed to his adverse attitude throughout the entire evening.

On my approach to Shreveport, Pam calls with a brief report: Fangtasia is closed, and Jennings has taken the night shift with Ridley at the Dexter house. I tell her we have green light and to continue with our preparations. Naturally, she wants details, "Do you want me to come over?"

"I have another meeting. Tomorrow."

My refusal surprises and unsettles her. Pam knows me well enough to infer it is not indulgence but business (possibly a dangerous one) that prevails upon me to postpone discussing the new developments with her and adjusting our current plans accordingly.

"Will you need me tonight?" she asks carefully.

"No. Keep working. Call Eve. I want the layouts of Castello's property, human headcount, security check points – everything. Talk to Ridley, too." If the youngster has been at the breeding lab, his insight could be useful.

"And the rest of Victor's people? There's several locations they use for nesting…"

"Child," I firmly interrupt her. "Tomorrow." I have not yet explained to Pam my idea of a concentrated strike in Arkansas, and I do need her input, but that conversation is not to be carried over the phone.

She does not inquire further, only saying she will be working from my office at the club – close enough to reach me fast should the need arise, I read between the lines.

The Glass house is dark; there are only lights around the pool and along the patio. Raven is perched on the second floor balcony, an ominous sentinel.

I ask if all is clear, and a low croaking is a confirmation it is. I release her, bidding to return for instructions before the dawn, and the large intelligent eyes glint with understanding. The shifter unfolds her huge pitch-black wings and with a few powerful flaps soars into the sky; her heated print disappears swiftly from within my energy globe in the direction of Bon Temps. Black fury, Sookie called her once when recounting the first fight between Raven and Preston in the woods. I have chosen a worthy guard for my lover; I shall make arrangements for her to accompany us to Las Vegas for the coronation – Sookie should not be without security in common areas of Hacienda during the day.

In the library, every window and glass pane is open to allow cool night air in. The entire floor is in order, without a trace of a fairy scent, but still tainted with odors of chemicals and strangers. Fleetingly, I wonder if Sookie will consider replacing human help with Koshéy Itko Etheo – the poltern Vlad told me about. Theodor can be an invaluable addition to our home… that is, if I – we – know where the home will be in two weeks' time – here, in New Orleans, or in a nameless grave.

Once I shut the windows, a faint smell of something burning reaches my nostrils, and I follow the invisible path to the first floor where Sookie is. As I step into the kitchen, I see instantly the source of smokeless heat farther away – a small fire built in the middle of the house.

More amazed than intrigued, I move in a flash to inspect what turns out to be an ingenious device – a fireplace unattached to the floor or a wall – that requires no wood, produces no ash, and needs no chimney. The design is simple – a tall curved frame of metal with the fire burning at the base of the thicker bottom curvature. Open on both sides, it allows me to see through the flames. Drawn, I come as close as my undead instincts would let me, and a wave of heat washes over me. The idea to upgrade the house with a fireplace has never appeared to me; that Sookie has thought of improving our home so creatively fills me with gratitude, and for a minute, I stand there, absorbing the warmth.

But it is my lover's fervor every part of me is yearning for.

Sookie is asleep on the other side of the fire. Her presence in the bond is unobtrusive and subtle; and while I found it stimulating and advantageous to have my moods and thoughts stripped of her emotions during the meeting, I now long for her to awake and flood our tie with the golden shimmer and ardor I have come to depend on and need so much.

I study the tender, softened with dreams features life never ceases to flutter through. The heat has soaked into her shiny locks and flushed her smooth skin, intensifying the tantalizing aroma her body emanates. I inhale, deeply, savoring the indescribable bouquet, and my eyes close on their own accord. I never feel… simple around her. It is always a bundle of human and vampire, new and old, wild and mellow at once. Even now, with her side of the bond quiet, a rich pallet of emotions surges in me as I take her in – my heart's desire, the object of my carnal hungers, the source of my happiness, and the driving force of my existence. My _izaa-ra_, I cannot imagine an inner balance without her anymore.

She murmurs something in her sleep, turning on her back, and I catch her breath, mixed with her divine perfume. Gently, I brush few silky strands away from her peaceful face, calling to her in my mind, _Sookie…_and there it is – the immediate loving recognition in her gaze. Oh, yes, the greatest pleasures of my nights are not what they used to be. One glance – and I am whole.

"Hey, how'd it go?"

As I remove my jacket and return to her side in front of the fire, I cast a quick but thorough look around, noticing the changes to the room, now organically harmonious, open, and inviting. Her question, though, brings forth the bothersome thoughts again, this time compounded with my other problem – the Ancient Order.

I answer in few words. Watching the fire makes me drowsy, and it is not without an effort that I tear away from the flames and to my bonded. Now that she is not in the state of refreshing sleep, signs of fatigue and weariness have returned, settling in the shadows around her eyes.

"You need to spend more time in the sun. To rest," I say. She is under a tremendous stress; unfortunately, it is only at night when I can support her through the bond. During day, she is on her own.

I tell her about the council's decisions, and Sookie is troubled with Wisconsin's position. The king, however, is not the only one I am wary of; in fact, I distrust them all, including Edgington, for until I have a crown on my head, my undeath is still a bargaining chip. I have leveraged the monarchs' support, yes, but unavoidably made myself more vulnerable, too – after all, I am a traitor to my master, having formally agreed to bring him final death. It is not inconceivable that one or more of Amun rulers may still be tempted to somehow deceit me or the rest of the council for a personal gain.

Without elaborating on any of this aloud, I only say there is always risk, but I have accepted it.

The flames attract my attention again; as I observe the fiery tangles, I cannot stop thinking that to remain many steps ahead of all in this complicated power game has become ultimately challenging after tonight's meeting. With more players involved, unforeseen factors and interests may emerge that could potentially destroy any chances of a successful (the way I see it) takeover.

Sookie's touch, combined with strangely pacifying effect of the fire, eventually helps calm the storm in my head, and I finally let myself relax against her, listening to her voice reverberate in her chest as she explains how she reinforced the existing wards around the house and added a new layer of protection against fairies.

"Tell me about Dermot."

"He showed me things," she replies after a pause, thoughtful. "Wonderful, amazing things. He made me one incredible lifetime richer."

Her response gives rise to the same irritation I experienced earlier today. Fairy, he cannot be trusted, the beast in me rumbles. Enemy. Prey. Blood. He always evades me. Is he afraid I'll fucking drain him? I gave my word no harm would come to him while in my house, have I not?

"I wish I could show you, too," Sookie adds, with a tingle of regret that stirs my own, but it is not due to the fact that her kin shared memories with her I am not privy of, or that he understands her nature of a sky fae better than I ever will, for it is his nature, as well. Although he has earned a place in her heart, he is no rival of mine. He just happens to remind me what I cannot give her.

Sookie sees right through me, "It's not about Dermot, is it?" Her fingers run over my shoulders, and her deep, abiding love and tenderness fill me, drowning my irrational, misplaced envy.

An image of her – a smiling goddess with eyes like infinite oceans of warm, bright life – flashes in my mind. I shall never see her awake to the first rays of the sun, nor kiss her skin bathed in its direct light. The luminary will never witness us make gentle love or have passionate sex, share blood, joy, and the high bond…

"He is important to you." This picture will always be what it is – a product of my imagination. I have accepted that, too. As far as Dermot is concerned, have I not realized the strong possibility our races have more in common than the centuries-old animosity led us to believe there is? Have I not discovered parallels that run along the timeline to the very origins of our species? Above all, Dermot and I have something more tangible and fundamental that brings us closer, whether I like it or not – love and need for Sookie.

My energy is stretched far, and in the back of my mind, I scan the periphery for the hundredth time, expecting Vlad any minute, when two things happen at once: a splash of red in the fire and Sookie stating that Dermot believes Faery to be isolated and that she reopened a portal for Niall.

"His exact words?" If Dermot is right, this could be the very explanation of why Gòro opened his third eye about the same time Niall appeared in my house – he must have seen what the Ancient Pythoness referred to as a shift between the worlds. But what led him to assume the mystical event is connected to my wife?

I question Sookie about her conversation with Dermot, and together we form a theory that Niall's shutting the gates inadvertently stopped the vital infusion of the ancient spirit from an outside source – the Old Temples where Prince Brigant lives – and in doing so he unintentionally weakened his own powers.

Another splash of red distorts the fire, annoyingly piquing my curiosity. My sight did not deceive me, so what the fuck was that, twice now? Sookie notices nothing; perhaps, it is invisible to human eyes, but discernible by my essence. Indeed, the fire grows thicker and brighter, and as I stare into it, the flames begin curling and twisting, forming bewitching arabesque of crimson and gold…

"The magic within those walls is believed to be from the beginning of the worlds – older than Faery itself," Sookie's voice penetrates through a haze in my head.

"That is how my kind refers to the darkness," I reply automatically. This is wrong… Why do I feel like closing my eyes and relaxing again…

"Wait, what?"

"The essence," I say, absorbed by the mystery in the fire. "It came from the beginning of the worlds, and no one knows the origins of it."

A light blue crosses into my field, rapidly advancing toward the house. Elaborate, highly detailed patterns with a slight dissociation. Single structure. Clear flow. No danger here.

"That's not a coincidence," Sookie says.

The scorching tongues take on a life of their own, beckoning me, alluring, seducing… The urge to sleep becomes overwhelming, and I force myself to stay alert. "No. It is another parallel."

This is not right! a part of me rebels, and the sudden realization instantly sobers me up.

"Have you invited anyone else but Vlad?" I ask Sookie, immediately ready to attack – but what? The fucking fireplace?!

"Only him…"

A few words in a whisper so soft I do not believe my own ears make me back away instinctively.

Old Aramaic!

Sookie frowns, following my every move. "What's wrong?"

I am sure my mind is functioning properly now, but still… "Do you hear anything unusual?"

"Nothing," she shakes her head.

Nothing? Has she not detected another vampire entering the house right this moment?

His patterns spike with excitement, and in a custom forged centuries ago, I shift to greet him face to face. He is fast, but I am faster; always have been, and now even more so. The lights of the fire reflect in the vampire's blue eyes and gleam off the white fangs exposed in a familiar smirk. With perfect precision, he brings his sword, sharp as a razor, down on me, and I hear my woman gasp. Fuck, I should have warned her Vlad will do what we always do whenever we meet – try to catch each other off guard.

His hands know no tremble: the blade chops off a wisp of my hair and stops against my neck without breaking the skin. "Norseman, you've gotten rusty."

"And you're as clumsy as I remember."

He glances down at my tantō poking him in the chest through the cut clothes. I could have carved his heart out even as his sword was working its way up into the air.

"Not bad for an old paperpusher." The smirk grows into a wide grin. "Sterling?"

"Anodized." _There is no danger, _I tell Sookie, for her condition can only be described as freaked out.

"Carrying again," Vlad raises an eyebrow. "Дело труба."

"Хуже."

"Excuse me," Sookie says briskly, her voice colored with disbelief as she sees me putting the dagger away. She glares at Vlad and then at the sword still pressed into my neck, and he immediately lowers the heavy piece, a look of genuine remorse on his bearded face.

"My apologies for not introducing myself properly. Vladimir Orlov."

"Sookie. Hate to disrupt the reunion, but where's Valerie? Have you seen her?"

"Raven the guard? She has left, I believe," Vlad says.

"I gave her the rest of the night off," I hurry to alleviate her worry. It does not escape me, though, that my visitor is well informed about the order of the things around here.

Sookie purses her lips, full of distrust and cautious – this is not the reaction I was expecting from her.

"What about your friend?" her question is not inquisitive but almost accusing. "The one you were bringing along?"

Vlad looks past Sookie and me, and the blue of his eyes murks. "He's already here."

.

Eyes in the Fire by AlphaEN

**SPOV**

Eric's mood did one-eighty from murderous to thrilled, but I was far from blooming with a smile and welcoming our guest. Aside from the fact these two were all of a sudden acting like two excited teenagers high on testosterone, Vlad's having no void was making me nuts. There was nothing – and I mean nothing – as if there was no mind at all. I wasn't uninviting him only because the wards around the house had let him through and Eric was convinced he was no threat.

The Russian vampire was almost as tall as the Viking and wore his sword strapped onto his back. I sized him up from blond head to black sneakers, lingering for a second on his chest: the dark shirt was neatly sliced open in crisscross over his heart, but the skin was intact, glowing with the distinct cold blue.

Well, dang, he was as undead as a vampire can be. "What about your friend?" Or was there another void out there I couldn't hear?

A new burst startled me, and involuntarily I jerked my head around. The fireplace was spitting cracking sparks again, and for a sec I thought a fuel control or something hadn't been properly adjusted.

"He's already here," Vlad said.

As if on cue, the flames shot up, raging mad. From behind the fire two wild green eyes appeared, and I heard a murmur.

Definitely not a fuel control.

The murmur grew into a low rumble – a chant in an alien language I recognizedinstantly, and my heart jumped into a race mode. The first time I'd scooped Dermot when he'd given me the amulet, _this _had been in his head. _It_ had called me. _It_ knew me.

I tried to get a read on whatever was in the fire, but got nothing, like with Vlad.

"What is he saying?" the Russian asked, quietly.

"Hear no evil, see no evil," Eric answered. He'd moved in front of me so quickly I didn't even notice. The bond was gloomy and heavy. "The wards have to stop him."

Vlad glanced at me. His fangs were down. "What kind?"

"Safeguards." Shit, they weren't bulletproof, not against someone whose magic was stronger than my fae. "Those who wish us harm can't enter."

The vampire turned away, but not before I'd caught the harsh expression. "There are no wards Gòro cannot break."

"Gòro?" _This_ was Gòro? Hear no evil, see no evil – he was trying to bypass the spells! And Vlad had brought him here!

Eric's rage boiled up. In a blink, he had Vlad by the throat. "Tell him to stop," he hissed.

"He doesn't take orders from me."

"Whom?!"

Vlad said something in Russian. Eric grabbed his sword with one hand and shoved him in the chest with the other, making him stumble backward. "Keep away! Sookie, you, too!"

Vlad shook his head. "You know you can't fight him with that!"

Eric gripped the handle and lifted the sword. He could wield it like a feather, I reckoned.

"Why?" My anxiety was ratcheting higher and higher. "Why can't he fight him?"

"Gòro is a genie. Common weapons are useless against him."

One thing I knew about genies for sure was not to mess with them.

Shit, shit, shit!

Gòro was trying to get in through the fire. If I could put it out…

.

**EPOV **

I still refuse to accept Vlad would have aided an enemy of mine, yet our home – the safest place for my bonded – is about to be breached. Given the choice between trusting my oldest friend and protecting Sookie, I do not hesitate.

This time I do not play; friend or not, I shall tear his head off if I have to. "Tell him to stop!"

Vlad makes no attempt to struggle. "He doesn't take orders from me."

"Whom?!"

"Горо не твоя забота. Тебе не о чем волноваться."

He is sincere in his assurances, otherwise the wards would have repelled him, and if he were a traitor, I would have read the deceit in his essence. None of this makes any fucking sense!

I seize his sword and clear the space around me. The feline eyes that enthralled me once before, in the VL9, seem to laugh at me through the wall of fire. I concentrate, recalling all my darkness and condensing it within me, and then let go. With no push to spread, my energy clings to me, and I draw it into my hands, through my fingers wrapped around the handle, and along the blade – no longer a common weapon.

Sookie tries to dart past me, just as a large ugly head with massive spiral horns is emerging from the flames. In a lunge, I plant myself between her and Gòro and push her back, shielding from the genie. Fire streams out of his nostrils, and a forked tongue sneaks out of a mouth open in a horrid yawn.

"Dammit! I've got to turn it off!" she shouts.

"He _will_ find a way in!" Nothing can stop Gòro but magic – old, powerful magic. For Sookie's sake I pray mine is old enough.

His shoulders free from the invisible bonds, he thrashes violently to release his arms. Unexpectedly, Vlad is by my side. He throws my dagger, aiming between the green eyes. Gòro dodges it, distracted for a split second, and I slip close and take a hack at his exposed neck. He blocks in time. The blade clinks against the horn and breaks in half. The genie roars, and his breath scorches me. Ignoring the pain, I duck and thrust the sword's stump and my darkness into his stomach. The huge torso convulses, and a high-pitched scream shatters the glass.

"Get her out of here!" I yell to Vlad.

I twist the handle, brutally tearing Gòro's gut, and he bleeds… fire! Instantly, it heats the remnants of the sword, scalding my palms. I keep twisting until his one arm is completely free and he tries to grab me. I leap back, leaving the weapon in the wound, and he yanks it out and hurls at me. Although I move as fast as I can, the reddened metal brushes against my shoulder, burning more than cutting.

My essence is erratic, my body injured and overheated by genie's magic, but somehow the searing pain is easing up. Quickly, I regroup. I pull a knot of darkness and blast the genie with it, eliciting another deafening screech, but that delays him only for a second, and the next he jerks his long thick tail out from behind the plane of flames and cracks it like a whip.

"Give it to me, vampire!"

In Old Aramaic, I tell him to fuck off. Gòro's bolts forth with the speed of light, and I have no other option but to fall back to avoid his claws. He slashes the air an inch away from my chest and takes another swing. I roll to the side, but he is hovering above, striking relentlessly. I have to get back on my feet, I have to fight this horned devil!

A fist of fire is coming down on me when Sookie's presence erupts in the bond, filling me with livid strength. The crystal on my chest beats once, loud and clear.

The genie recoils, and his third eye flies open.

"I want it!" he roars. "The tear of a dragon is MINE!"

... _to be continued_


	19. Ch 11: The Origins What am I? Part 2

****_A/N This chapter ties with Put Me First, Eric's search in the VL9 in particular, and Ch 8 Over of DTRT. Music, art, and translation in the Annotation available on the blog (link to this chapter is on the profile page.) _

**Ch 11: The Origins. What am I? Part 2  
**

**SPOV**

I doubled over with Eric's fever. It hurt like hell. It hurt like I was burning in one! Is this why vampires steer clear of fire? an afterthought popped up in my head pressed against the cool tiles. Then there were no tiles, but something else, also cool, swept me in a hug.

"Eric?" The bond was throbbing with heat.

"Sookie! Солнышко, очнись!"

Another wave of nauseating pain crashed into me. I groaned.

"Wake up! He needs you!"

Using every ounce of willpower I could summon, I called to my blood in Eric to soothe his suffering. It worked for a moment, and I opened my eyes to a flare of red attacking him. Eric went down on his back, dodging Gòro's blows from left and right, but he wouldn't last long: the genie was vicious and he was going to kill the Viking – I knew it.

I pushed myself into the bond. It sucked me in, and I was weightless, and everything stopped, and the familiar zinging flooded my senses.

Within a single frame of the present, I saw the genie – a fiery atrocious mix of a beast and a man above the waist and a reptile's tail below. Frozen midair in awe and greed, he was ready to snap at the vampire on the floor before him. A tiny spark floated up between the two, and the snapshot went into motion again.

"The tear of a dragon is mine!" boomed Gòro. "Give it to me, now!" His huge tail whirled up like a lasso and lashed at Eric.

"No!" I screamed, but my voice drowned in another chilling shrill.

.

**EPOV**

The amulet beams the instance the rope-like tip of Gòro's tail wraps around it. He shrieks, a cry of pain and astonishment, and lets go. The flames that armor him subside, and he loops back, trying to lurch into the fire that is still burning in the fireplace behind him. Refreshed and furious, I roll a ball of ice blue and fling it into his shrunk form. My darkness explodes inside his body as he is about to disappear into the hell he has risen from, but the tail twitches, my energy tells me – in agony. With a well measured exertion, I wrench the genie back into the human world. First, he nearly overwhelms me with glamour, then almost kills me – and now he wants to escape?! This motherfucker messed with the wrong vampire!

I firmly grip Gòro's appendage covered with ember scales and drag him away from the fire, and his claws burrow grooves in the floor.

"Stop, or I'll rip you apart," I growl. He will tell me everything I wish to know, or I'll make sure his lower part never regrows!

"Gòro! Enough!" comes from the outside.

The genie ceases resisting, and the room goes dark again. Only a small – real – fire is burning merrily in the fireplace as if no mortal combat has just happened.

"Let him go, Erik," now from the inside.

I pause solely because I do not recognize the voice speaking in Old Aramaic with a quaint accent foreign to my ear.

"Who are you to command _me?_" I challenge the invisible intruder. I unleash my energy in a globe, but what I find stuns me beyond words, for an essence of the purest kind lights up within it: the sign of infinity with a drop in one loop and a crescent in the other.

.

**SPOV**

"I am Kha."

I couldn't believe it – another vampire just strolls in without an invitation, and not a single dot on my mental radar! But when Eric – my Eric, charred, bloody, singed hair, clothes torn and torched – silently squeezed my hand and then knelt alongside Vlad, I realized he was bewildered, humbled, and even terrified.

The stranger wasn't very tall. Simple black clothes couldn't hide the solid width of his shoulders and the confident posture. He had short black hair, piercing dark eyes under arches of thick brows, and his left cheekbone was marked with a zigzag scar much paler than the overall pallor of his skin that appeared coppery in the unsteady light of the fire. Nothing gave me a clue about his human or vampire origins. I could only guess how old he was, and the way all three of genie's eyes followed his every move clearly marked him as the head honcho.

"Master," Vlad said. "Forgive me, I interfered."

"You did right, as always," the vampire nodded slightly. "Rise. You, too, Eric."

A bit dizzy after the power exchange, I stood by Eric's side, and he found my hand again and laced his fingers through mine. He was very warm.

"Eric," Vlad's dad said, "Release Gòro. He does not tolerate darkness inside him too well." He spoke with a strange throaty cadence, pronouncing the r in Gòro in a long mini-thunder.

Sharp irritation meshed with relief flashed through the bond. "Why are you here?"

"All in its time," the vampire replied, evenly. "She must swear to secrecy first."

Well, hello, to you, too. "_She _won't be doing anything unless you explain a few minor details, like why _he,_" I shot a frosty look at the genie, "jumped at Eric."

Gòro, who had dwindled to a humanly acceptable size and wasn't sizzling anymore, grumbled and smacked the floor with his tail. Irritated much?

"English, please!" I snapped.

"Gòro got carried away a bit," Vlad cut in. "He is very attracted to… certain historical pieces. But Eric was never in real danger, and neither were you."

I knew instantly Eric believed him. So, what, this was all a show? Some twisted test? Then, Kha had to have been watching the entire time, ready to hold the genie back at the last moment.

It was hot here, and I was parched. And angry all over again. And staring at the ancient vampire, who was sporting an unreadable expression. Memories of Appius showing up in Bon Temps still fresh in my mind, I didn't trust _this_ old guy as far as I could throw him, which wasn't far at all. I was itching to kick his ass out the door in a jiffy; all I needed to do was…

"Sookie is not rescinding Vlad's invitation in good faith," Eric said as if reading my mind. "She deserves the same in return."

Kha finally showed a trace of surprise and satisfaction. "Are you not afraid of me?"

_Careful, _Eric game me a mind-nudge. _Do not exercise his patience. _

"I'd be crazy not to be," I answered honestly.

The tension had built up to a point where something had to give.

"Ask," Kha said. He was the wisest here, huh.

I decided not to push it; he wouldn't tell why the whole circus, anyway.

"How come I can't hear you?" I asked. "I mean, I can't hear vampires' thoughts, but I can tell your kind by the mind signature. You and your child haven't any." And don't even let me start with Mr. Hell-raiser…

"Gòro is camouflaging us," Vlad said.

"Show her," Kha ordered.

Two flecks of nothingness resurfaced and swiftly unfolded into regular voids.

"Gòro is also a telepath, among other things," Vlad added.

Oh, great. "Can he hear _me_?"

"_He _cannot," the genie splashed with crimson. His tail sinuously wound around his body, and the thin tip hung over shoulder, lazily swinging back and forth. This was like watching an X-files episode. Then I made a mistake of looking up: the third pupil dilated, swallowing the green. Agent Mulder would have a field day.

"What about vampires?"

"No one can hear vampires." The tip went wild. "Except you."

"He is bluffing, my lover," Eric put his hand on my shoulder. As hurt as he was, he was sending me calmness and reassurance. "Never trust a genie when he is flaunting his tail like this."

Kha's lips curved in a semblance of a smile, but I was sure my escalated heart rate had been a dead giveaway. That's what you get for bargaining with an old, manipulative vampire.

"I will not shield again, as a sign of good will," he said. "Do you wish to ask anything else?"

I did, badly. There were far too many questions and very few answers. Kha knew something about us, something big. I had to know what it was.

"Fine. You have my consent."

Gòro made a burbling – laughing? – sound, purpling up as if a light switch was flipped, and his body inflated with heat. Geez Louise, not again, I almost groaned.

He clapped, then slowly parted his hands, and I gaped at letters burning in the air between his palms. Needless to say, I couldn't read the text, but I promised myself I was gonna stock up with fire extinguishers once this preview of inferno was over.

"This is a fire scroll," Vlad said. "By signing this, you will agree neither to reveal to anyone what you have learned and/or will learn tonight, nor to share any information you gain as a result of that knowledge, tonight and in the future. Penalty for breaking this vow is death. Eric is your bonded; what applies to you, applies to him."

"Sign," Gòro breathed out.

Eric brought my hand up, and I turned my head to meet his fierce gaze. Without breaking away, he dropped his fangs and pricked my index finger, deep. I jabbed the empty space under the agreement, and it felt like dipping my finger into boiling water. I squeezed the bleeding pad as if I was holding a pen and wrote an S, and the letter gleamed before settling on the invisible hot plane. Gòro closed his palms, and the scrolle disappeared.

I didn't get a copy.

"At last," Kha said, with a hardly audible sigh.

Eric licked my finger clean, sealing the sore spot. All eyes – all sevenof them – were on us while he did, but neither one of us gave a crap. My blood on Eric's tongue, the bond communicated to me how proud and worried he was, and that he was still in pain.

Now, what?

.

**EPOV**

Kha speaks to Gòro quietly, and the genie bounces off the floor and dives into the fire.

"We must wait until he's back," Vlad says.

Sookie runs her eyes over me. Albeit the wounds have already began filling, the healing progresses slower than usual, for the fire that burnt me is not of a regular kind. I am still reeling, my essence hectic after the fight, and Gòro's heat courses through my system, stinging me persistently. It will take time and some effort to expel it and restore the balance.

"I'm gonna get you some blood," Sookie finally says and turns to Vlad, "Would you or your dad like some, too?"

"Thank you, no," Vlad declines politely. "And I am sorry about the mess. It all will be fixed before you know it."

Sookie nods curtly, grim and protective, and I wonder if her opinion of him has been irreparably corrupted.

"Прости, друг, да Батюшка повелел смолчать," he tells me as Sookie walks away.

"Слово Ха для тебя закон. Зла не держу." And how can I? Vlad disobeyed his Maker's direct orders, warning me twice Gòro was under a third party's control and even helping me fight him. My friend has never betrayed me, although his sire's motives are yet to be unraveled.

"Чай, хозяюшка твоя осерчала," Vlad murmurs. "My Natasha will take care of everything."

Sookie is mad, indeed, but hardly because of the damages done to the house anew. "I need you on good terms with her."

"I'll do my best. Our deal is in force regardless of what happens tonight."

Kha is silently watching us, and I ask no more. I fully realize that without his approval Vlad cannot give his blood to anyone, and in light of tonight's events, it seems more ominous than promising that he agreed to his child granting protection to Sookie if I am no more. Fuck! When I asked for Vlad's help, I did not conceive the Order would become so interested in her, and most likely neither did he. And now Sookie has signed an addendum to my five-centuries-old contract with the Ancients, binding herself to secrecy. What next? Have I played straight into their hands?

Carefully, I probe Kha's field. His darkness must be astoundingly evolved; unfortunately, all Isee is the Order's symbol that is blocking his patterns from my reach, whereas he is probably reading mine with ease.

Stay calm, Norseman. You don't know what the Ancient Ones want with her. Until you do, make no hasty decisions.

I finish the second bottle of Blue Blood when Gòro returns. He is carrying a black cube similar to the one Vlad sent me the VL9 console in, and it is calibrated to Kha's magic. Inside, there is an item I have been unsuccessfully searching for in the virtual archives – the artefact Constantine nearly paid for with his undeath and twelve Green Fairies gave their lives for.

"You have been looking for this, Eric," Kha says.

The Librarian must have informed him on my activities in the VL9, but I anticipated it all along. "This and a few others."

"I tried to implant them into the virtual environment, but none of my methods worked," Vlad explains. "The magic within them resists any influence we have applied. For now, Gòro keeps the originals safe."

"What is this?" Sookie asks, eyeing the sphere.

"A grail," Gòro says, "a shard of the past. It speaks to those who will listen."

"It's an ancient relic that contains some sort of data," Vlad translates from magical to technical. "My team tried to decode the information, but it's not reacting to the dark magic or anything else we have in our possession. The only time we've been able to record an increase in activity was when the grail was placed near the other similar items."

"Do you know how we locate most of the objects we wish to acquire for the Archives?" Kha asks me.

What the fuck does it have to do with Sookie and me? "Spies."

"Unreliable," Gòro says. "_I_ seek them out through the eyes of others – many others, in many worlds, for centuries. I tracked the tear of a dragon you wear on your chest long time ago. A fairy – your wife's kin – unearthed it somehow. My pupil was killed by humans for sorcery before he could take it from the fairy, and then I lost the connection with him."

"Dermot was cursed," Sookie nods, struggling to keep the outward cool composure.

"Until recently. I caught a glimpse of the tear again, and this time it was alive. _You _did it," he points his tail at Sookie, and her breath catches in her throat.

I bare my fangs at the genie with unbridled menace.

"We have known about you for years," Kha addresses Sookie in a soft tone, as if trying to lessen a blow that is capable of crushing her. He cares? "Gòro heard of a young human woman who could read minds. We looked through your friends and family. It was determined that your gift was not as unique as they thought, but had potential. After you bonded the older vampire, we looked again, closer."

"You've been watching me?" Disgust and anxiety pour into me, and I take it all in, giving strength in return.

"We observe every so often, but we hardly ever intervene." Gòro takes the sphere into his hands, and his long concave claws enclose around it almost lovingly. "You are not the only one. There are others gifted in more ways than one."

"You keep tabs on telepaths," she looks from Kha to Gòro, deeply disturbed. "Why?"

"They've been waiting for the right one," I finally see the bigger picture. Gòro – the secret weapon of the Ancients and their all-seeing eye – travels in his home-dimension and cuts corners of human and other worlds, spying, listening, watching. That is how they know so much about so much! A powerful telepath, there is almost no limit to what he would have been able to learn about Sookie through Raven and Dermot, including the fact that…

"For the past few weeks, your skills have flourished," Kha says, as if lifting it from my thoughts. "Gòro cannot penetrate your mind or Eric's, but he can two-natured, fae, and many others. You revived the fairy so that he could save the Were. You opened a portal to Faery. You lit up the tear of a dragon, twice. Do you know how you did it?"

I glance back at Vlad, and his own surprise and anger echo mine, for the clear blue of his eyes has morphed into murky green again.

No more riddles! "What do you want with my bonded?" I demand.

Kha motions to Gòro to bring the sphere closer to Sookie. "Lighten up the grail."

She takes a step back, "What, is this another test? No way in hell!"

"Lighten it up!" Gòro exclaims impatiently, breathing heat into her face. "Lighten it up like you did the tear of a dragon!"

"Quiet!" Kha slightly raises his voice, and the genie shuts up. "Sookie, you want answers, and so do I. This," he points at the artefact with his eyes, "is it, for both of us. No harm will come to you."

"And Eric," she replies after a moment of intense consideration. "Your word, and I'll give it a try."

"Yes."

_You don't have to do this._

"But I do," she whispers back.

Gingerly, she accepts the sphere, and in her small palms it does not seem to be nearly as heavy as I recall. Sookie strokes the smooth surface with one hand, and a thoughtful look flashes across her face. Through the bond, I follow her as her mood changes from upset to curious to warm and amazed.

"Oh, my God," an uncertain smile brightens her pale face, "It's broadcasting."

"Can you understand?" Goro's eyes spark obsessively.

"Can't you?" she peeks at him, clearly pushing his buttons, and he whirls around, flaming up. Genies are the most volatile creatures I know, literally and figuratively. Despite their magic, strength, and many abilities worth envying, their intellect is very primitive – the downside that cost them their dominance once.

She handles him well, ignoring the outburst.

"You know, one tiny hiccup about reading minds is the language barrier," she continues stroking the sphere. "I bet you took this from fairies."

"Yes," I confirm, and for a moment our combined excitement overpowers every other emotion. _Caelli_?

She nods.

"It is time," Kha says. "Let the high bond help you."

.

**SPOV**

I really wanted to tell Kha that his sidekick from a lamp had scrambled the very bond he thought could help me, but bit my tongue. What would be the point of bickering?

Eric was too warm. Chaotic and turbulent, his side was all wrong and distorted. Too… unstable.

The ebony ball was whispering almost imperceptibly. Once I had passed the initial barrier around it, an odd word in Caelli would stick out here and there loud enough for me to discern the meaning, but not the context. I couldn't scoop the ball deep enough to dig into the images which I was sure it was loaded with, because it was also…. voidish. Yeah, it was a strange combination of vampire and live brain traits.

How can a lifeless object manifest this kind of activity?

I needed a moment to myself. My shields went up, as I tried to figure this out from another end. How do I _lighten up_ the grail just like that, on a whim? Where do I begin? Well, the first time it happened when I was filling the crystal's hollow with my blood. I'd had Dermot's help then, and tonight I'd reacted to a danger. I'd been angry, and I'd really wanted to stop Gòro, so I'd given Eric my strength to fight him. Or kill him.

Seemed like the provoked and enraged Sookie was doing a lot more than that, though, like opening portals and summoning fairy princes. Maybe, it wasn't just about my blood. While I had the ability to go above and beyond, it was frustration and pain that gave me the final push to actually do these crazy things, to _want _to do them.

Was that the cost of tapping into my mysterious nature? Going to the dark place to draw strength? If so, I didn't even want to try. What I wanted was to be strong without hurting anyone, including myself.

Fleeting and destructive, anger wasn't the answer for me. There had to be another way – there _was_ another way, and my healing Preston was a proof. Real power was not violent, although it could be ferocious and lethal. It was not subjective. It was calm and quiet in its greatness, pure in and of itself. It craved peace. Balance. Equilibrium.

My skin tingled the moment I remembered the breeze whispering in the halls of the Old Temples. I imagined it flowing over me, into me, quenching the unnatural heat, restoring my tie with Eric. I gave him my strength. But I also gave him my love.

One breath to live, one heart to give.

It felt good. It felt right. It felt as if I just found a missing piece – the one question that brought us all here.

What am I?…

**** Music embedded ***

Tranquilityby XSereneiX

_No one knows what came first – Life or Magic. Life could not exist without Magic, and Magic did not wish to dwell within dead objects. Entwined, they grew together, forming worlds and bearing new races, and over time creatures of all kinds spread deep into the universe, filling every realm and dimension Magic built for its children. They spoke in one tongue. They enjoyed free will. They prospered, loved, fought, killed, made peace, gave birth… They lived. Although not without bloodshed, they knew to maintain the balance in their hearts, minds, and worlds – the one law Magic and Life imposed onto everyone. They traveled unimpeded, for bridges and gateways connected every corner of the universe safely and securely. _

_Most importantly, the maze of channels let Magic flow into and through the worlds, bringing force to Life seeded in every breathing thing. Dragons – the most beloved and wise of all children – guarded the portals. They had all powers of Magic and inherited from Life the ability to animate. And so, it was the order of things for a long time: races thrived; generations lived and died; and dragons watched them come and go like ocean tides, endless and resilient, fertile and rich. _

Dragons Birthby *Samima

_Creatures multiplied, evolved into great many new species, and the once universal language broke into hundreds, and hundreds became thousands. They did not understand each other anymore. Animosity crept into their minds. Voracity for treasure and hunger for power blackened their hearts. A dream to dominate seduced entire nations into conquering their neighbors and raging wars. Only the strongest would survive._

_Raiders and plunderers began sabotaging passages so their prey would not escape; in turn, the persecuted, driven by fear and anger, started sealing themselves off to keep the pillagers out. The free flow of Magic became impossible. Dragons continued enforcing the Law, but blinded by greed aggressors defied it with contempt. From protectors, the great serpents became hunted and were killed mercilessly. Before giving its last breath, a dragon would cry in grief for the first and the last time in its life, and the precious tears absorbed specks of its soul and turned solid. _

_Balance was disrupted. Trapped in segments of the universe, Magic degraded in some worlds, obliterating life and turning foliage and lush into stark lands and cold shadows, and in some more lucky realms it survived and transformed, adjusting to the species that populated those realms. Evolution in the universe continued at different rates and in different directions. Fae, demons, genies, trolls, warlocks, polterns, fahrros… they all acquired their own traits. Secrecy prevailed. Cross-breeding became almost obsolete. Distrust ruled. The Law was forgotten._

Greed…by seth2012chaos

_Magic as Life knew it was dying. They tried cutting new doors and drilling worm holes to find a way for Magic to flow, but those were destroyed frequently. Magic needed help. It picked a few out of the most modest yet loyal of his children – humans. Having lost almost all their special talents by then, they were the perfect vessels for a unique ability dying Magic bestowed upon them – to unlock sealed gates and open new ones. The few chosen became known as the gatekeepers or Gaia._

_Gaia were weak and short-lived. Their material shell was easy to shatter, and with no talons, venom, or super powers to defend themselves, their numbers quickly diminished. Dragons watched over Gaia, but the wise serpents were also suffering, having no more great Magic to turn to. Unable to get away to restore their inner balance and to mate and breed, the oldest of the original races was at the brink of extinction. _

_And so they taught live Gaia how to read minds of their enemies. Then they took dead Gaia and gave them life. A vampire race was created for the sole purpose of protecting those Gaia whose hearts were still beating. Strong and magical, undead warriors required training and education at first, but once they learned to manage the power given to them, they were unstoppable. To ensure vampires would never hurt gaia and that gaia would never betray vampires, dragons tied them with sacred bonds: vampires could only survive if gaia gave them blood that carried crumbs of Magic. All future blood bonds took their beginning from that symbiosis._

_The time came when dragons could no longer remain separated from their own kind stuck in multiple worlds. They retreated to a place mostly untouched by the chaos and destruction. During the last shift between the worlds, the path leading to that place was lost. No one heard of dragons since then either because they died from isolation or survived but did not wish to be found._

_Gaia returned home, hiding in plain sight among unsuspecting humans. With the loss of Magic and their makers, vampires who followed gaia to the human realm underwent further metamorphosis. The sun in this world was killing them, and they could only come to life when it was dark. Enemy spies conspired against gaia even here, sending false prophets and oracles everywhere to tell a lie about special humans who would bring death to other species. Fairies began to search for such men and women and to fight vampires protecting them. Eventually, no one remembered the real cause of the feud, but wars between fairies and undead continued. _

_Gaia assimilated, thinning their blood with that of humans through breeding. Vampires, thirsty for their makers' magic – darkness, they now called it – needed to drink more and more, and the truth about blood bonds was forgotten. The undead race turned against humans, for they believed they lost gaia to them._

_Time went by, and history repeated itself: nations within worlds broke apart and fought among themselves. Gateways collapsed and shifts occurred, creating more Lost Lands. The myths remained. Told through thousands of stories and verses, sung in thousands songs and lullabies, the dragons left a deep impression in the minds and beliefs of humans. The fire dimension where genies and demons lived was proclaimed hell, and humans who had drops of gaia in their bloodline were being killed by their own – they were called witches, sorcerers, or mages, for their strange abilities such as hearing thoughts, igniting fire, and moving objects without touching them scared common mortals. Shitters and weres, horrified by executions, never revealed their second natures, and vampires insidiously existed under the cover of the night, having learned to go by without gaia, though the craving for the blood never ceased. _

_The locations of the remaining portals were kept secret, and only very magical creatures knew of them and how to travel between worlds. Ignorant of the Law, humans continued living as if they were the only intelligent species in the entire universe. Who the gatekeepers really were and where they lived no one knew any longer. Dissolved in human world, gaia vanished without a trace and the very memory of them became an echo in history. But every so often, a human would be born with a speck of Magic in his or her blood, and a clan of third-generation vampires calling themselves the Ancient Order sought them out in hopes that one night gaia would return, and so would the dragons._

Draconis Lupine by SBGothik

**EPOV**

She floods the bond with her warm shimmer that rolls through me, widening my every pattern and neutralizing genie's fire in its wake, and a small sun ignites in Sookie's hands. The treasure of Green Fairies brightens the room, and, her eyes shut, she tells a story of the worlds' origins.

Rocked to my core, I am lost for words. The others are stone silent, too.

Kha speaks first. He orders Gòro to deliver the news to the rest, "It has been done," and the genie takes the darkened sphere from Sookie's shaking hands, "True gaia, at last."

She is shocked, still under the impression of what she has seen and heard. "I did what you asked," she says, trying to gain control over herself. "Now, I need to ask something in return."

"I am listening."

"You called me through Dermot, remember?"

Gòro nods, attentive.

"And other times? In the desert, too? Was that you warning me about the danger?"

Kha and Gòro exchange quick glances. "No," the genie replies. "I have done no such thing."

"What do you mean by 'It haws been done'?" I ask Kha, firmly.

"Sookie read the grail. Vlad will take Gòro's memories of her account and add them to the Archives. A contract will be drawn for her to read more. There will be a few other provisions, as well."

"I'm gonna have to think about that," Sookie shrugs one shoulder with poorly disguised irritation. "With all due respect, I don't have time to be reading magic balls at your beck and call. We have different priorities."

Overwhelmed, she excuses herself and steps outside, not looking at anyone. The genie leaves the same way he arrived: through the wall of fire.

I won't let go questioning Kha. "Other provisions?"

"We need her gaia powers."

"For what? To open portals?" I clench my fists by my sides. "She does not have enough gaia in her to uncover and keep a gate open, and you know that!"

"There are other ways for her to serve the Order," Kha replies.

"You will not use her! She is my bonded and pledged. If you want her talents, you must ask me first. I _will_ decline."

My blunt refusal agitates Kha. He lets down his fangs, but that does not scare me.

"Give us a minute, Eric," Vlad says meaningfully.

This fucking night will never end, it seems. I leave the child and the maker alone and go to Sookie. She is standing at the edge of the pool, staring into the water. I wrap my arms around her, pressing her to my chest. Gatekeeper, or fairy, or human, or whatever she may be, I care not. She is my wife, and I will protect her because I love her, bonded or not.

"Hey, you're all healed," she says, her voice shaky.

I smile at her, "You did it. I don't know how, but…"

She sighs, "Entropy. I'm just getting it now."

Vlad appears in the patio doors. "He is ready to talk to you."

Kha is facing the fire, with his back to us. "You already know what used to be the foundation of the Ancient Order," he begins, "but our goal changed tens of centuries ago. The Order does not believe anymore there will ever be a gaia strong enough to unlock portals and most importantly keep them open. The dragons will never return. So we redirected our efforts toward ensuring the survival of our own kind in human realm. We started the Archives for two main reasons; first – to test those who could contribute to the essence pool we are planning to collect; second – to use the magic in the found artefacts to sustain that pool."

"The essence pool?" I glance at Vlad. Total clusterfuck.

"Vampire blood bank," Vlad answers. "The strongest and most powerful of our kind will be asked to donate blood. Magic will be used to keep that blood vital." Noticing the bewildered look on Sookie's face mirrored by mine, he clarifies: "Think of it as a vault or a stasis field where time stops. The blood will be kept there and thus remain fresh. If there's ever a catastrophic loss of the dark magic in the world, it will be used to re-create the race."

So, this is Vlad's main task with the Order! The VL9, his laboratory, his firm, new technologies – somehow, it is all working for this cause.

Sookie is immediately suspicious. "Re-create the race? How?"

Kha turns around abruptly, catching her accusing gaze. "You should know better, Sookie. There is more to us than blood , sex, and violence. Not a single human will be forced into undeath."

"Out of the goodness of your hearts, I presume?"

"Out of common sense," he replies coldly. "We have learned long time ago that those who choose the night willingly are more likely to survive and thrive. There are exceptions, of course." He looks me in the eye. "I made Vlad because he wished to learn and realize his dreams. Eric, on the other hand, was an accident."

I freeze, a feeling very similar to nausea building in my abdomen.

"The Roman superseded the Order without knowing we were interested in offering you to cross over. One of us would have been your maker. Your premature death was an accident – an unfortunate one, for you became _his_. No one could meddle after that."

For the second time tonight, I have nothing to say, nor do I know what to think. "Why me?"

"You were bright. Brave. Smart. Ambitious enough to explore far beyond the limits of your little world of snow and cold."

Fuck me.

"Centuries after you left the Roman's side, you met a vampire who called himself a Librarian."

Gods! _The_ _Librarian! _How have I not seen this before?!

"He was impressed with your progress. He was the one to recommend you for service."

"You…" I stifle the tremble in my voice. "You had my Maker release me so that I could sign the contract." It was the main condition of the agreement, which Appius had fulfilled just nights before!

Kha nods, once. "Yes, he was… persuaded without a very detailed explanation. We wanted to let you serve the Order and see if your spirit was as unbending as we had envisioned once."

"So you _did_ interfere," Sookie says, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why not sooner?"

"You mean why not when Eric was first taken?" Kha shakes his head. "That is not how Order operates. Only when it is crucial for our mission do we step in. In the grand scheme of things, one man's death was not. Besides, blood bonds are sacred even for us."

In other words, it better suited the Order to negotiate with Appius for a powerful five-hundred-year dead vampire and not for an unstable clingy newborn.

I am furious, but keep my anger at bay. The Ancient Order has been there at every major turning point in my human and vampire existence, either interfering with my path or _observing. _I have never even suspected their involvement (or the lack of it) was so momentous. But perhaps, it was a blessing in disguise they did not get me. I am free from my evil maker; I would never be free of one of _them_, no matter how kind. "If you do not believe Sookie can help you bring back the dragons, what is so crucial that brought _y_ou here _now_?" My blood? No, too simple. Too obvious.

"The Order wants Sookie's help reading the grail for it may give us the key to creating the vault for the essence pool," Kha says, but I hear emotion in his voice.

He is hesitant.

"I already told you: no."

He does not make a move to leave.

"You're not here because of the Order, are you?" Sookie sighs. She is tired, and I feel it as if her exhaustion is my own. "Just tell us."

Kha comes closer. "The Ancient Order is so old we do not remember our own age. But before we became one, each of us had undeath of his own. I did, in other worlds where I walked in day and at night and ruled a kingdom. I bound a creature of magnificent grace and beauty. Her abilities were exceptional – she was a healer of the great Magic. She became my _izaa-ra_."

He turns a ring he is wearing inward on his left hand and reveals the face. It is a seal ring, and the design of the seal is an insignia of a white sun encircled by a black royal crown.

"I did not come here only because of the Order," he utters. "I am here because of her."


	20. Ch 12: Against All Odds Part 1

**Ch 12: Against All Odds. Part 1.  
**

Moonfire dragon by Mathildaw

**SPOV**

**The Week of the Coronation. Wednesday, before Dawn.**

Gatekeepers. Supes who used to be human. Who used to be supernatural. Which makes me what, exactly? A cocktail? McSookie – an outdated term. Think Bloody Sookie. Serve warmed under the sun. Seep slowly.

I was in total overload. Finally, I knew my roots. All of them.

I knew Eric's.

I knew where blood bonds came from. Vampires and gaia – the very definition of a relationship with strings attached. No, not strings. Fangs.

Forget about an arch-ancient clan of vampires and their side kick from a lamp watching – oh, excuse me! – _observing_ for years. Forget the whole business of reading the grail for hire. Or the freakin' voices. Or dying Faery. Or Victor and Felipe. I could deal with any of that. What truly got me was whether here and now, me, Eric, our life together – whether it all somehow had been predetermined from the get go.

Fate? Destiny? Was choosing to accept the high bond only an illusion of having free will, for both of us?

Eric's angry possessiveness and the kind of fear I hated feeling from him – the fear of loss – rolled down the bond, completely throwing me off.

"Fucking shit," I muttered, backing away from the pool ledge. Come on, already! How am I supposed to concentrate with all the jumble in my head and an agitated vampire messing up my already shitty mood?

I forced a deep breath in and calmed down a little. Inwardly, I began pulling back extensions of myself from the bond. As I did so, I felt it increasingly resisting my careful retreat, and I stopped before it would stretch too tight or snap. Immediately the tugging subsided. Invisible borders emerged, marking me as a more distinguishable entity. Let his anger flow past me, I told the bond.

The front of the vampire _stormr_ moved farther away. I still felt Eric clearly as always, but his emotions weren't rippling mine as much.

Obviously, I was getting the hang of handling my side of the rope, but… what about the rest of my _flourished skills_? They were either too much, or not enough. If finding some sort of balance was the point, try as I might, I couldn't see how.

_None of this would have happened if Eric didn't drain Colman, _a tiny nagging voice in me said.

The whole scenario flashed before my inner eye. The strange circle of magic Dermot had imagined is never realized. I'm still a barmaid and an average telepath, constantly afraid to let go and push myself to the limit. Preston dies from isolation. I never remember the gift, and Niall remains locked away in Faery. I may meet Valerie, but she never changes into a mythical creature. The Old Temples never welcome me through my uncle's striking memories. No Dahlls. No force. No ancient spirit. No gaia.

My hand strayed up to the heavy Sunset around my neck, and my fingers traced the large gems of the necklace warmed by my body. My anchor. The only person who knew me better than I did myself. Things he'd done, things he was doing – for me, because of me. Because of the love he had for me and the trust he'd given me.

A pair of cool arms wound around me, and I turned to hug my man tight. God, I loved him, all on my own, and I understood what the grail had been singing to me throughout the entire tale of origins – free will had always been the cornerstone of the order in the universe. It _had _to be, even if the children of Magic had chosen chaos and destruction over peace and prosperity.

Eric slowly rubbed my back, and I nuzzled into him, inhaling his heady masculine scent that no smoke or soot could make less dear to me. I would have still wanted to be tied to him for two hundred and fifty years and more. Anything for him. For us. Nothing could ever change that. _I_ wouldn't have changed that, because _us_ wasn't about our heritage, blood, or genes.

I ran my hands over Eric's shoulders, removing what was left of the destroyed shirt. The horrible gashes on his chest and arms had disappeared, and there was only mended white skin, just as it should be.

"Hey, you're all healed," I said, relieved. I looked up at him – perfect eyebrows, smiling mouth, sapphire blue eyes glowing softly with warm adoration…

Nature strives for balance. Fast mellows, and slow rushes to catch up. What's hot, becomes cold, and cold rises to meet its opposite. For a moment, there's equilibrium. In that moment, everything is possible, and one and one become one, and the sun meets the moon, and you find eternity condensed into a single point. A force is born. This is the beginning.

"You did it," Eric said. "I don't know how…"

But the beginning is also an end. Inertia. When every process stops, we die. Free will stirs things up. Defies death. Makes life go on.

"Entropy. I'm just getting it now."

Eric didn't reply, searching my face intensely with his eyes. I cupped his cheek, ghosting with my thumb over his lips. He leaned closer, and I was about to replace my finger with my mouth, when Vlad yanked us back into the unresolved reality.

"He is ready to talk to you."

As Kha dished out some more ugly truth, this time about Eric's past, I realized I was fully capable of hating him after having known him for less than half an hour. In my book, details like who this librarian was and what contract they'd had Eric sign didn't matter. I only cared that Kha's dry facts deeply wounded him. He seemed lost for words, which didn't happen often, but who wouldn't be? To learn a bunch of old vampires had singled you out and then just let a pervert hijack and torture you for decades isn't something one can take in and be okay with.

I decided Vlad's dad was a stone cold topnotch a-hole who didn't deserve sympathy even if the hell froze over.

To Eric's credit, he collected himself remarkably quickly. "If you do not believe Sookie can help you bring back the dragons, what is so crucial that brought _y_ou here _now_?" he asked Kha, demandingly. God bless his heart, he was bent on keeping his eyes on the ball (no pun.)

"The Order wants Sookie's help reading the grail for it may give us the key to creating the vault for the essence pool."

"I already told you: no," Eric quipped.

Kha glanced at me, and something shifted in his entire demeanor. Suddenly, I knew whom he reminded me of – Alcide, in the clinic by dying Culepper's side. It was the same expression of hope for a miracle against all odds.

"You're not here because of the Order, are you?" Everyone had ulterior motives. Why would Kha be any different? "Just tell us."

"The Ancient Order is so old we do not remember our own age," he said after pondering for a second. "But before we became one, each of us had undeath of his own. I did, in other worlds where I walked in day and at night and ruled a kingdom. I bound a creature of magnificent grace and beauty. Her abilities were exceptional – she was a healer of the great magic. She became my _izaa-ra_."

Dragon Age – Hawke Morrigan fv by YamaO

That rang a bell. On our first date, Eric had told me the legend of a powerful vampire king who shared a high bond with a part-fae. Kha was him?…

"I did not come here only because of the Order. I am here because of her. Sola is her name."

Oh, boy, here we go again, I thought.

"It is true, then," Eric said, topping off the heap of malicious and vengeful urges with surprise and curiosity. "All of it?"

"She was a soldier of the Law, Britlingen by mother, and her father was a fairy of the Vellion royal family – the second dynasty that ruled Faery long before yours," Kha nodded at me. "Ours is the first uncompelled bond in the history of the worlds. It happens to be the first high bond, as well. Your search in the Archives made me wonder, Eric. I had to see for myself if you two indeed conceived the same sacred connection."

"You sent Gòro to value our tie," the Viking concluded, in an acerbic tone.

"Yes, that, too," the old vampire admitted without a shred of remorse. "The Order is aware of your advancing powers. Challenging you was the shortest and surest way to reveal your strengths both as individuals and as a couple. You have proven you are a far better fighter than we knew you were, but you only overcame Gòro with Sookie's help. Sola and I supported each other the same way."

I gathered my wits. This was an opportunity to learn something new about our bond, and I didn't want to waste it.

I motioned to my guests to sit and found myself a cozy corner on a sofa. Eric lowered by my side and rested his hand on my leg. He was craving contact, I noticed. I covered his hand with mine, a part of me automatically checking his temperature had returned to normal.

Once everyone's butts and emotions were settled, I was hoping Kha would continue with the fairytale, but apparently he needed a special invitation.

"Was that the universal language you and Gòro were speaking?" I carefully probed.

"We were speaking in one of the first derivatives of the mother tongue," Kha corrected me, "It is the language of an extinct race that possessed the ability to reach to the heart of all objects and dictate their will to them, using sacred words. They could create winds. Raise storms. Awake volcanoes."

"Humans once attempted to adopt the dialect, but soon the purpose of it was forgotten and the base of it absorbed by a local argot," Eric helpfully supplied. "It is now known as Old Aramaic. Skilled witches use it for spells."

Brrr. "So if you know the actual dialect, you could, what, trigger an earthquake?" Outrageously insane, yet… I'd already resigned myself to thinking twice before deeming something impossible.

"Those who once could are all dead," Vlad answered. "The ability was passed from father to son, mother to daughter. The language was the proper tool to communicate their will. You can employ the tool, but without the familial trait, it yields very little reward."

I filed that to mull over later. "What about Caelli?" I glanced back at Kha. "Did fairies have Caelli in your time?"

"A form of it. Sola often spoke to me in her native."

"How did you meet?" I dared ask, since he'd broached the subject again.

The dark eyes darted down to Eric's and my hands, and I couldn't help tightening my fingers on top of his.

"At the dawn of vampire age, the dragons divided worlds into domains per undead," Kha said. "I reigned over the territories my maker and his maker before him had. My responsibility was the safety of gatekeepers who crossed or settled in my lands. One day Sola came through a portal my gaia kept open."

I squinted at him. _His _gaia?Because he fed off them? "If gaia lived in your domain, they were considered yours?"

"No. Only those who elected to have my blood," he shot me a piercing look, "And sharing it was the ultimate sign of my good will, if you please. I would fight for my gaia to my final death."

Mentally, I kicked myself for stepping into a pile of stereotype poo. Of course, the notion of humans as property didn't appear in the undead culture until God knows how much later. And of course, Kha didn't miss the apprehensive undertone of my question.

Eric's fingers twitched. "They were not meant to drink from our kind," he said.

"Do you always do what you are meant to? Do you _know _what you are meant to do?" Kha countered.

"You did, according to the original design."

"The original design was to ensure co-dependence between our races," the ancient vampire replied sternly, "which could also lead to hatred: gaia withholding blood for more control, undead retaliating…" He waved his hand in a you-know-better-than-that gesture. "Dragons foresaw the possibility. Their true wisdom lied not in forcing more rules upon us to avoid the conflict, but in teaching us we needed to rely on each other to survive. From there, it only came naturally that once we partook gaia's lifeforce, nothing but our own volition would preclude letting them taste ours in return.

"Blood exchange was the next step in our joined evolution," he went on. "It furthered the symbiosis. When the benefits manifested – vigor, expeditious healing, and such – it became a customary arrangement for ruling vampires to bind gatekeepers. Making them more durable was mutually advantageous."

This wasn't in the grail's version of events, but Kha's chronology wasn't contradicting it. Actually, it was filling in the gaps. "You gave them enhanced protection," I said.

"And they gave us the perfect sustenance. Sola gave me something else. We had many happy years together." Kha smiled softly at the memory. "She continued with her lot of easing pain of others. I kept guarding my gaia – it was my way of helping Sola to uphold the Law. My blood made her stronger, we discovered, and hers was her gift to me. The bond we established was much like my other bonds at first in that it always told me where she was and if she needed me. But the ability to exchange powers was unique to our tie and a true revelation. I saved her life many times without being next to her. To my dismay, with Magic waning, it became more and more difficult and dangerous for Sola to find a path to those in dire need of her healing touch. After the dragons left, shifts deepened the rifts between the worlds. Many gaia chose to return home – the dominion of men – and their vampires followed. I remained because of Sola. My lands, by then declared a sovereign kingdom, still harbored few gatekeepers. Unfortunately, their magic was not enough."

"You lost her," Vlad said, grimly.

"I lost my way to her," Kha answered. "Led by the bond, I searched for my _izaa-ra_. When the last of my gatekeepers perished, only few passages were functioning, and none brought me closer to Sola. I left my kingdom behind, barren, and went as deep into the Lost Lands as I could. In my quest, I met others who wished for the dragons to return and restore the balance. Thirteen vampires, we shared blood and created the Order. We are the last of our kind to have seen the dragons. The rest you know."

The rest… As much as I'd been taken by Kha's story, I couldn't imagine the immeasurable vastness of time he'd existed apart from his soul mate. How was he able to still _hope_ even after his own peers had abandoned the very purpose of their clan's formation?

"You can feel her," I dawned on me. He came here to see for himself if gaia in me was strong enough to help him find her. Unfortunately, even if I borrowed all of Eric's powers, that wasn't going to be the case. "I'm sorry."

"She is not dead," Kha closed his eyes and inhaled. "It has been so long since we renewed the bond… but I hear her. Always." His confession was intimate and heart wrenching. "The night she is no more…"

Vlad grasped his shoulder. "No!"

The dark-skinned vampire just shook his head. Vlad was going to object, but held back. A silent conversation between them was occurring, and Eric and I quietly waited. The gravity of the moment was overwhelming. The younger vampire looked more and more desolated, albeit he tried to conceal it. The Maker's sorrow was evident through the child, doubled by Vlad's own despair for Kha's misery. I averted my eyes; it was too personal, vulnerable even, and certainly not intended for a stranger's sight. But his reaction told me something else: a lot of what the ancient vampire divulged he was hearing for the first time.

Kha stood up abruptly. "Do not lose the tear of a dragon, Eric. It will guide you to your beloved one night. And Sookie," he inclined his head, his face an unreadable mask again, "We shall speak soon. Think about our offer. Vampires are not the only race to benefit from the grail."

He was gone in a wink. For a while, no one said a word, consumed by the secrets that had been unveiled tonight.

I yawned involuntarily. My body was giving me a signal it was ready to retire, and I shook myself up and climbed off the couch. There was nothing else for me to do here, but the two friends definitely had some serious chatting to do.

"You're welcome to stay here," I told Vlad, "On one condition."

Eric raised an eyebrow, and Vlad blankly stared at me.

"No shoes in the house," I said.

The Russian finally snapped out of it. "Of course."

"I'm off to bed," I looked at Eric. I wasn't going to wait up for him.

He gave me a gentle thank-you kiss. "Sleep well, my lover."

But I didn't. I tossed and turned, plagued by visions of membranous wings, huge claws, and emerald eyes. A rustling in the room interrupted my restless dreams.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Eric murmured. He was holding the black cube I'd seen once in the bedroom safe, similar to the one the grail was kept it.

"How's he doing?"

"He is concerned, but he will be fine." Eric paused, a bit uncertain. "First impressions may be deceitful. Will you spend some time with him tomorrow?"

I had to admit to myself I kind of liked Vlad despite his maker. The child doesn't have to follow his father's footsteps. "Sure." There was something genuine about him that was worth giving a shot. Besides, I shouldn't dismiss his past with Eric because of one night.

I couldn't sleep after Eric left. Reading didn't distract me a smidgen – too many loose ends were hanging out in the open.

With a sigh, I dragged myself out of the bed and into the bathroom.

"You look empty and lonely," I said as I started the water to fill the huge tub. I lit a scented candle, dropped my nighty on the floor and climbed in. The aroma of wild berries flooded the room, mixing with the strong smell of sandal wood soap I'd poured into the tub, and I relaxed, letting my body absorb the soothing heat as the water line rose quickly. I dived to wet my hair and then leaned back, my eyes shut. I had a lot to think about, and I figured Eric could use privacy too, so I withdrew some more of myself from the bond, trying not to disturb him.

Stranger than fiction. Yes, here and now was an incredible combination of circumstances and consequences of thousands of choices, made or unfulfilled. _After you bonded the older vampire… _They knew about my first. Bill could have bonded me, but it was Eric who had fallen for me – a dormant gaia – and had claimed my love against all odds and my better judgment (or so I'd though at the time.)

What else did the Ancient Order know? I shivered at the mere idea of them being privy of gory details and ghosts of my past. Preston? Uncle Dermot? What about my _other _uncle? My mother who'd been so devoted to my dad she'd hardly ever paid attention to my annoying habit of blurting out embarrassing stuff in front of town folks?

Then it hit me. Hunter! He couldn't be in danger, could he? He wasn't a strong telepath. Not yet. Maybe, not ever.

I had to presume from now on the Order would not just observe me. They'd be screening everyone I'd come in contact with until they got what they wanted. If I tried to talk to Hunter's father Remy, the chances were Gòro would hear.

I couldn't risk it. If the boy wasn't on the genie's radar, I'd rather keep it that way and stay away. Or have a vampire check up on him.

Dammit.

I slid under the water again and held my breath until my lungs screamed for air. I felt like a fish in a glass bowl. On one hand it sucked. On the other, the ancients didn't give a flying fudge about my human experiences. Probably they had sifted through them, casting aside everything that had nothing to do with telepathy or other signs of gaia. In truth, the Order turned the table on me. Here I am, scooping others and not interfering, and – surprise! – I'm on the receiving end of my own medicine.

At least, my privacy hadn't been breached where it really mattered: the genie couldn't read either me or Eric. Spending more time around voids seemed to have paid off in spades.

Remembering Gòro led my ruminations into another avenue. I'd only tapped into the grail – an ancient relic that once belonged to fairies – and, as I'd suspected, it had been bursting with images. Why the genie – a telepath worth thousands of Sookies – had been unable to garner at least a portion of that information was beyond me, because he didn't need to know Caelli. He simply needed to let it come to him. The grail was a mystery, juicy, shamelessly alluring mystery, and although I detested being… well, not bullied, but cornered into lightening it, I knew as clear as day I wanted to get my hands on that ball of magic again. If only I could do that without signing any contracts! Because of the grail, so many little and big things were finally making sense: Breandan's obsession with human-fairy breeds; Dermot's memory of the crystal and of Arianna, the woman with angelic smile; the Ancient Pythoness' ambiguous statement about the Britlingen dimension being inaccessible… My head was beginning to spin. The implications were out of this world. Literally.

.

Underwater Trapped by levifreelife

**EPOV **

"I'm the fucking Librarian. I spent four decades researching the Archives preparing for the job, and not once did I suspect my Maker's history was in the annals!"

I am not surprised Kha has never told his child about Sola. Too painful.

We are upstairs, in the library. Vlad, barefoot, is pacing anxiously up and down in the room. He is bitter and angry on many accounts, superficial as well as quite complicated. Kha's personal secrets, the Order's business, Vlad's unwillful role in blindsiding me – it all exacts a heavy toll on his love for his maker, yet there is another issue I believe is at the root of his outrage. I decide to let him pour out his doubts and trepidations until we get to the core of it.

"I have seen him emotional before, but not like tonight," Vlad goes on. "And Gòro! He completely lost control when he saw the tear of a dragon!"

"An added bonus, is all. You interceded at the right moment."

"I should have known there was more to his coming to see you. That fireworm hardly ever crawls out of his cave."

"He had a very good reason – Sookie's true nature."

"And Kha kept it from me!" Vlad exclaims with force. "That the twelve Ancients went behind my back, I can accept. But Kha…" A string of cuss words in Russian ends the sentence.

I am sympathetic to his apprehension; however, sparing each other's feelings out of pity is not part of our friendship.

"Yes, he has kept a great deal of things from you, and probably still does," I note, coolly. Vampire origins, his age, his bonded, his being one of the last to have seen the dragons… The list is long. "But in all frankness, the rules of the Order are clear: need-to-know basis. It is a part of your contract."

"My gripe has nothing to do with the contract," Vlad returns briskly. "I have always believed to be stitched to my father with mutual affection, pride, and encouragement, and… He used me."

Betrayal – a familiar beast, but is that the case with _this _Maker-child pair? Hmm. Not exactly. Presently, Vlad is in a state when everything is perceived negatively. For my brother's sake, I must remain objective, whether I care for Kha or not. What's important is that _Kha _cares for Vlad, there is no doubt in my mind. "That is one way to look at it, and I'd say rather simplified."

Vlad stops in his tracks, his eyes as dark as they were the night Constantine nearly died. "What other way is there, Norseman? He ordered me to let Gòro handle the meeting and to keep his own involvement hushed. All the while, he knew that despite his assurances, I would never agree to Gòro's attacking you and yours!"

"Perhaps, that is exactly why he did not tell you."

"Naturally, for my knowing would complicate the plan," he grumbles.

"Yes, but it would also split your loyalties." And what a corruptive, harmful situation would they both face then! Kha presciently chose the lesser evil – one that would infuriate Vlad after the fact, but allow him to retain his integrity both as a child and a friend. "I do not pretend to like him after what he's put Sookie through, but I do think he was trying to respect your personal boundaries." Not an easy task with so much at stake for him and for the Order. "He could have commanded you as your Maker to obey and let Gòro burn me to half-death. Instead, you were free to act upon your discretion. Do not disregard that."

Vlad finally slumps down on a sofa across from me. "I don't blame you for disliking him. You held your grounds well, though."

"She is my bonded. My concern. Not yours."

"You're suggesting I am looking for an excuse to be angry with him."

Ah, never the one to shy away from the problem. "Pamela did not take it well either when I ordered her to live on if I were no more."

"He wants me to go on, to continue with my work," Vlad utters, after a minute of staring into nothing. There is dejection in him I am not used to seeing. Then again, it is not every night one learns about his beloved maker's final will. "He asked me to let him go. I can't."

"What do you think will suffice, then? Dying along with him?" I refuse to accept that. Not after Constantine… "You do _not _want to meet the sun, Vlad. You are upset. Give it time."

"What if he has no time left? Why tonight? Why would he bare his soul tonight – no offense – in front of two strangers? And the Order getting impatient – this is not a coincidence."

"More so, you must respect his wish," I offer, struggling to remain calm. "Brining Sola back is not in your power. All you can do is what Kha wants you to: your work. There is no one to replace you."

"Fusing dark magic with technology doesn't require special skills. Brains, yes. My children have enough of that."

"They lack your vision. And I'm also telling you this because _I _need you to find a solution that will not require Sookie's aid. You are the only one I can trust. So, you see, I myself am quite selfish about your predicament in more ways than one."

Vlad scratches under his bearded chin – a tweak indicative of an intense thought process. Centuries have passed, yet I remember vividly every telltale sign, every characteristic gesture. I have missed my brother dearly, I realize. Regrettably, because of me his dedication to his masters' cause is being called into question again, for to finish his project and build the vault, he needs Sookie's help with the grail – something I will oppose to for as long as I exist.

"Yes, her involvement must be avoided," he finally admits.

"That is for the best."

Vlad gives a short laugh, "I've always admired your knack for combining personal agenda with impartial logic."

I frown. "The latter does not come easy to me these nights."

"Forgive me. I'm an egoistic, selfish ass," Vlad shakes his head, immediately serious and collected. "How did your other meeting go?"

It is my turn to unburden myself to him. Vlad listens attentively, as I tell him everything, starting from the night Benjamin Alluni and his delegation first visited me. I omit specific details pertaining to Sookie (the voices and her initial encounter with Preston in particular,) however hide nothing of the Vegas events. Vlad's jaw tightens when I describe the dog fight and the injuries she sustained, and nods with understanding at my theory that the unusually high level of mental stress triggered the excessive growth of her telepathy. The incredible attraction she holds for other supernaturals is easily explained, too, now that we know the origins of different types of magic: Sookie's gaia is the very Magic itself, and every other race recognizes facets of it as their own, hence her ability to heal Preston, sustain Dermot's spark, and facilitate Raven's unprecedented alteration into a Shishi Lion. In the back of my mind, I wonder if there will ever be a limit to wonders happening around her.

"Elaborate," Vlad asks after I expound the Madden-Ridley operation and my takeover strategy. "How will you arrange for Victor's people to gather in one place at the right time?"

"Once I kill him, one of his men will do it for me. I'll have him put a call to Victor's lieutenants with an urgent order from Madden himself." I might use the same man all the way through the takeover.

"You will hardly have the time to make him comply," Vlad points out the seemingly weakest part of my plans. "I imagine the regent's crew is rather fanatical in their loyalty. Unless you possess means of persuasion I am not aware of."

"Glamour," I confess. "I can glamour our kind. The fairy I drained a few months back… his magic affected me. Still does."

He instantly sits upright. "No one must know."

"Only you and Sookie, but I trust her implicitly."

"That goes without saying." Vlad's now blue eyes run up and down my face. "Much depends on her. And I agree – you may not underestimate Eugene Harold. I will look into his background, see if I can find a confirmation or a leverage you can use. Don't worry about the old guys," he adds. "I have my own sources."

"Speaking of sources," I close the subject of vampire bull shit, "The VL9 is a genius invention. Too bad I cannot hold on to it longer."

"What I sent you was a prototype. You will have a fully functional VL10 as soon as I launch production, and," Vlad raises a finger, "I'll make sure your bonded has access to the Archives, as well."

I take a minute to retrieve the console, grabbing a fresh tee-shirt for Vlad on my way. We used to share clothes before; although, he is bulkier than me in shoulders, my size will do.

The moment the elevator door opens wide enough, I fling both items at him without warning, and he catches the cube first and then the tee-shirt in an elegant half-spin.

"I owe you a piece of weapon," I say, as he quickly takes the tarnished top off and slides the fresh one on.

"I'll accept the tantō if it survived Gòro's head."

Vlad had his sights set on the dagger since I found it during one of our missions. I nod my assent, my attention elsewhere. I have disturbed Sookie's sleep, and she is alert now, but somehow removed, more than she was earlier. I feel her, yet the distance between us that has not been there before is increasing swiftly, separating and obscuring her from me.

I know not what to make of it. As I release a scruple of my darkness into the bond, it returns to me, communicating no acute distress, only tremulous waves of emotions – an echo of Sookie's usually brilliant presence.

"You have changed," Vlad's quiet voice weaves into my contemplation. "And it's not because of the fairy's magic."

"Have I, really?" Vampires were programmed to protect gaia at any cost. Is that why I killed Long Shadow? Was the urge to save Sookie nothing but a hint of what was in my makeup? And which thread in the canvas of her magic attracts _me_?

"Eric," Vlad walks over. "I've heard Kha, too. Emotional attachment was never a part of the original bonds. Only survival."

"Indeed."

"You are doubting yourself?"

I feel how I feel. "No."

"Her?"

"Never."

"Then quit moping."

I cannot help but chuckle at that. "Is that your best advice?"

"You need a mirror, not advice. When you speak or think of her like this, your entire being proclaims your love." He puts a hand on my shoulder and adds softly, "And your fear. Every shade of it."

"I have not known it was possible," I say, compelled to open my heart to him. "I used to regard it as a weakness, but I was blind. Self-centered idiot. I hurt us both. That she agreed to have me despite my mistakes, despite the danger being with me poses to her, is nothing short of miracle."

"I couldn't be happier for you even if we were brothers by blood," Vlad says, with a smile. "But do not let me keep you a minute longer. Please, convey my gratitude for the welcome."

..._to be continued..._


	21. Ch 12: Against All Odds Part 2

_A/N I wanted to finish posting Against All Odds asap, so here's part 2. It has an important scene in it that unfortunately I was unable to post due to mature content (again). Yes, it is a lemon, but as you already know DTRT lemons are not just PWP. They are significant for the story and character development, and this one - in particular. I am torn on this issue, b/c without these scenes DTRT doesn't feel entirely right, with missing chunks of intimate conversations and actions. At the same time, the rules on ff net are simple - no explicit sexual content. I wish ff net was less pious on the issue, and it pains me that reader suffers as a result. __I can only invite you over to my site where you can find the complete version of the story. Thank you for your patience and understanding._  


**Ch 12: Against All Odds. Part 2  
**

**EPOV  
**

Our bed is empty. I follow the scent of my woman to the bathroom. There, she is resting in the water, flushed, in repose, tempting as ever. Her eyes are closed, expression of tranquility on her beautiful face. Although her X-factor is no longer a mystery, she still is, to me.

Unhurriedly, I remove my ruined clothes and slide in opposite to her, and as I do, she lifts her head, peering at me, corners of her lips curling up.

"Thank God we're not in the pool," she says. "Or I'd have to swim to get to you."

"Not a stretch away."

She closes her eyes and reclines again. Silence ensues, and not a splash disturbs the quiet between us. Her heart beat is the only sound my mind registers.

"He spent eternity looking for her, waiting," she speaks up, at last.

"He loves her." She is his _izaa-ra_. What else could he have done?

"He's bound to her."

"Your point?"

Sookie sits straight, meeting my gaze. "It's too much to ask. I'd never want you to spend your life like that – hanging by a thread of hope and blood."

"Nothing will take you away from me," I tell her with conviction. "I will never let that happen."

"Never say never."

My chest tightens upon hearing her pithy response. I fail to understand the purpose of it. What prompted her mood? Does she believe Kha and Sola's lot is a foretelling, a sign of things to come to pass?

"Eric, if anything happens to me – and I'm just saying, because it's life and stuff happens – but if you can't find me, or heal me, or turn me, I need to know you won't be tied up."

"Sookie," I say, with warning.

"The head of Amelia's coven can dissolve blood bonds…"

"No!" I stop her tersely. There will be no discussion. No conversation. No argument about the origins, what made us the way we are, or what may change us in the future. If it is space that she needs, or time to sort in private through whatever bothers her, I shall give it to her. But I will not allow the very thought of breaking our tie up for good.

I shut my side completely. At once, Sookie's eyes widen with surprise, unspoken questions trembling on her lips. Stunned and puzzled, she is disappointed, and before I tell her not to be alarmed, _I_ stop feeling her entirely.

The bond is blocked.

Unexpectedly, panic is my first reaction. My fangs drop down on their own accord. The call of her blood in me is gone, and my essence in her is unresponsive to my command. The beast roars in fury, demanding what is his, but the bonded vampire in me aches with the sharp need to be reconnected with his mate.

***EDITED CONTENT***

With the darkness of the day slumber rapidly descending on me, I pray to Gods that we live, if only to see one more night such as this.

.

Spoiled Gold by Phatpuppyart

**SPOV**

**Wednesday afternoon**

I didn't know I had these muscles, I though, soaping up in the shower and washing the traces of Eric and my activities off my skin. I lathered up my hair and combed out the impossible tangles, mentally marking the sore areas and recalling how those areas had become sore in the first place. After last night, the system of orgasm jars definitely wasn't cutting it anymore. We'd worked each other pretty extensively for hours non-stop, and not a drop of blood shared, but I'd kept up, wearing my vampire off quite a bit – not bad for a mostly human woman.

I'm not ashamed to say I needed to help myself cool down, which wasn't all that hard once I let the memories flood my mind.

It was a long shower.

Afterwards, I padded into the bedroom and pulled the sheet off the Viking's unmoving form. I carefully cleaned him with a damp washcloth, patted dry and covered him up with a fresh sheet.

It was past noon. I was hungry and dying for a cup of morning vice. I kissed my sleeping man and hurried upstairs, wrapping the dragon robe around myself on the way. I didn't notice anything unusual as I crossed to the kitchen. Everything was exactly the same way Taylor Price and his crew had left…

Huh? I stopped abruptly, looking around the pristine space. Not a thing out of place. Not a speck of dust in the air. Not a scratch or even a burn spot anywhere.

A genie? A super-ancient king? A ball of magic? Was it all a dream?

I dropped my shields. No, it wasn't a dream. Of course, not (we should be so lucky,) and the second void I stumbled upon upstairs in the house was a proof. Vlad had mentioned something about taking care of the damage before I'd know it. Well, I'll be damn if he wasn't a vampire of his word.

"I need coffee," I muttered.

I started the machine and began rummaging in the fridge. My stomach growled. Eggs. And bacon. And toast. And maybe fresh berry smoothie. And a slice of pecan pie.

I huffed and then laughed at my own ravenousness. So much energy on sex – how many grails could have I lightened up instead?

I made enough food for three, and Valerie joined me at the kitchen counter.

"Did Eric tell you we have a guest?" I asked, getting up for more joe.

"Yes, he left me a message," she answered. Probably before Mr. and Mrs. Northman, well, got busy. "Didn't give me a name, just warned me to stay away from the locked bedroom upstairs."

Typical Eric obsessed with security. "How was your night off? Did you have a good time?"

She shrugged. "It was okay." She took a moment to finish her drink, but the rosy cheekbones betrayed her before her thoughts would. "I had a run in your woods," she added, clearing her throat. "With a friend."

I had a good idea who that friend might be.

"Eric and I are leaving to Vegas this weekend, by the way." She'd have some more time to herself then. She needed it, too.

"I thought I was supposed to go with you."

When did _that_ happen? "Oh, that's right. Skipped my mind."

I'd decided to stay out of Eric and Valerie's business affairs from the beginning, and I wasn't about to break that rule now. Let them figure it out. I had a much bigger fish to fry.

Back in the bedroom, I leafed through the pages of Eric's journal I'd read half-way through. (He referred to it as "On the Races of the Supernatural World," but I preferred to call it his journal: there was so much about his own moods and impressions I could clearly read between the lines.) I found the entry on genies toward the end.

They were the first race to populate the fire dimension – a place where space bent in strange ways, connecting it to other worlds through special passages. Gòro's kind was notoriously known for short temper, primitive norms of behavior (I cringed at that), predictable reactions (Eric's underscore), and a variety of powers, including pyrokinesis, glamour, high tolerance for physical pain, instantaneous healing ability, and a weird sense of humor due to which no one wanted to joke around them. Genies thrived on fire, and their magic was somehow tied to it, like vampires' essence was tied to their blood.

I scanned the rest of the short text, learning that genies' life span depended on how much of their time they spent in their home dimension, that they were loners by nature and didn't like to live in a bunch, were compatible with aerial spirits called Yullas (what the heck was that?), and that the fire demons were direct descendants of the cross-breeding between the two species.

I closed the journal and drummed with my fingers on top of the binding. No mentioning of telepathy. Then, how did Gòro become a mindreader? And camouflaging others – that was a whole new level for me.

I called the security post. Otis was on duty today.

"Mrs. Northman, what can I do for you?"

"You have a fire extinguisher I can borrow?"

"Yes, m'am," he replied without a pause, earning a few brownie points for not sticking his nose in my business. "Clay will bring it to you right away."

I took the laptop from the small office and popped upstairs, and as soon as I materialized in the kitchen I realized not only had I teleported myself; I just dragged a large dead object along with me. My Brigant side was still on the rise.

"Could you get that for me?" I told Valerie, catching the other were guard's broadcast on approach.

"Sorry, get what?"

The doorbell rang. "That."

I started the laptop and googled "Hear no evil, see no evil," while Valerie showed Clay inside. He put the red cylinder on the floor, easily, like it was light as a feather. The instructions manual was still attached to it, but I hadn't been Sam's best waitress for nothing: these things had helped us put out countless brawls back in the day.

"Otis said you should keep it if you haven't any around the house," said Clay.

I hadn't seen one so far. "That's great, thank you."

My search online brought up a few articles that shed some light on the origins of the proverb that had broken down my wards. Some sources attributed it to Confucius, and others linked it to a philosophy that presumably came to Japan from China in the eighth century.

I bet the dialect that had morphed into Old Aramaic was much older. It was logical to assume the human version of the spell-breaking incantation came from the obliterated race of the wind raisers.

Dermot had said it best: Times mesh. Reflections tell more than words.

"Have you ever heard of the three wise monkeys?" I asked Valerie, zooming in on her reddish brainwaves.

"I don't think so. What about them?"

"_The three wise monkeys, sometimes called the three mystic apes, are a pictorial __maxim__. Together they embody the __proverbial__ principle to "see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil"_," I read out loud.

"Ah, that. Confucius, right?"

"Yeah. It's really simple, isn't it? You'd think that someone very old and wise would at least get the quote right. What a shame."

She gave me a quizzical look, thinking something wasn't hunky dory in Sookieville today. I dodged the current, scooping deeper. I was hoping _he_ would take the bait and show himself. Alas, no green eyes leered back at me.

Maybe, he, too, was waiting for a special invitation?

"Val, I need some time alone," I said, shutting down the computer. "Hate to ask, but can you stay outside until I call you?"

"Okay. I'm not going far, though." _Shift'n'hover._

I blackened the glass panes everywhere on the first floor, started the fire, and sat tight on the sofa, hugging the fire extinguisher with one arm – flimsy protection, but that was the best I could come up with. I was all jitters and nerves, in spite of knowing no harm would come to me and Eric. I had Kha's word, didn't I?

The fire flared. I gulped, but it was too late to back out.

"Gaia!" Gòro fluidly spilled out of the flames and hung in the air like a huge deadly balloon. "What do you want?"

"Answers," and some more.

He wiggled his tail suggestively. "Why would I care?"

"You don't have to," I said, brazen on the outside, "but I read the grail like you asked, and you still owe me a favor. Besides, you attacked Eric without provocation."

Three green eyes bore into my modest two. Something scraped and poked at my mind. The son of a bitch was trying to glamour me.

I shook my head. "You can't. I'm glamourproof."

Gòro didn't like it. "Careful, little one," and he began expanding.

Oh, no, he didn't. "First of, I'm not little, and second – don't even think about exploding in my living room again." I patted the side of my cylindrical friend nestled next to me.

The genie sized up my weapon. "I want to see the tear of a dragon first," he relented.

"No." Not a chance. "It's mine. I claimed it with my blood."

The genie scrunched his nose in a scowl – an unnerving sight. "Well?"

"You were in Valerie's head. How come I didn't see you like I'd seen you before, in my uncle's?"

"I hid," he answered laconically, crossing his arms on the chest.

"How? And how do you camouflage others' minds?" I asked, less and less fearful.

"That is a secret not to be shared."

Really? "You had apprentices. You said so yourself."

Suddenly Gòro wasn't defensive anymore. He floated closer, emanating heat waves and… curiosity. Oh, my God. I could sense his mood, just a tad wee bit, but still…

He sniffed me. I didn't flinch. "The blood code forbids taking a vampire's bonded for an apprentice."

Shit. What would it take to convince Gòro to teach me? And I really wanted him to, because – let's face it – he was powerful beyond wilders dreams _and _the only other telepath I could learn from in time for the coronation.

"Fine. Good bye." I stood up, totally bluffing.

Gòro made a slow circle around me. "Maybe, I will show you something less challenging."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"I will open my mind to you," he went on, "Only as much as you need to see."

"Okay."

"Give me your hand," he rumbled. "And do not lose the track of time."

The tip of his tail wasn't twitching. I bit the inside of my cheek and stretched out my right arm to Gòro. I'm crazy. Absolutely nuts.

Fire enveloped me, but didn't burn at all. The blazing wall parted, and million thoughts, images, and memories began streaming through the crack. _I watch them all. I search for treasures – all kinds of them. _

The grail. My crystal. Scrolls. Obelisks. Black feathers. Gold fish.

Gold fish?…

Then two sketches emerged at the front line. My face. Eric's.

I looked closer, blocking everything else. It was me all right, but my features were fluctuating, somehow unsettled. My hair was longer, then shorter, my tan was changing shades from deep bronze to gold, my eyes blue and then grayish the next second. Cheeks fuller, then hollowed. A trace of a scar on my temple – I'd had that for months after the abduction.

The sketch trembled and broke into dozens of pictures and voices. These were people – humans and supes – thinking about me: Valerie, worried I'd be doing something dangerous and she wouldn't get to me fast enough; Dermot, anxious about Faery and my ancient spirit; Tara, wondering if she'd offended me with an outburst in the hospital; Michele, imagining her child, weaving into her musings the trust fund I'd started for him or her. There were others I didn't recognize – patrons? friends? enemies? – strangers whose paths crossed with mine once or twice, brushing by the periphery of my life. For them, I was no more than a blurry shadow, but it was more than enough for the genie to track me down.

That's how the Ancient Order was observing – filters! Gòro was streaming live thoughts of millions of people, including those around me; only his filters were a collection of multiple perceptions of me throughout my adult years, meshed into one.

I grabbed Eric's sketch. He didn't age, so his filter wasn't constantly changing the same way mine was, but his fangs did – from huge, small, sexy, bloody, to snow white; his hair was loose one moment, then braided the next. Some idealized him into an angel with massive gracious plenty (not even close to his true beauty,) while others made him a devil with horns.

My filters were a child's play next to Gòro's.

"Will you show me how you do it?" I asked hopeful he wouldn't refuse.

By the time we were done, my head was reeling. I was so excited I wanted to thank the genie (never mind the you-own-me-a-favor part,) and there was only one way I knew how to.

Mentally, I went back a few hours to me and Eric, and I drew my strength from that wonderful feeling of happiness and rightness of us together, and when the comforting zinging filled me, I channeled my good will through my palm into the genie.

He didn't flare up. He didn't inflate. He didn't blow up. He turned burgundy, and amber splashed all over him. He was mollified.

And horny.

I yanked my hand back, embarrassed to the bone.

"It is not shameful to inspire and gift others with joy," Gòro said.

"Um, I suppose." First, I'm a muse for The Nest of Four, now this…

"If you hide your love for your vampire from others, you will never achieve what you want – control over your powers."

"I'm not hiding it. I'm just…" I shrugged, fiercely blushing, "Not used to showing it off."

Gòro rumbled with coarse laugh. "You show nothing but the truth. Next time you wish to ask me a question, light a candle in front of a mirror and call my name thrice."

He slickly whirled around me in a genie's happy dance and hopped into the fire.

"Yeah, yeah, go tackle some Yulla," I said to the fireplace, still mortified.

There was a silver lining, though: I have a special ability to bring forth warm and fuzzies in others. Plus, Gòro didn't seem to mind that I might need his help again, and I was determined to take him up on his offer very soon.

Maybe, it was the genie's off-the-charts reaction to my magic. Or maybe it was Eric's loving that had taken my mind off everything that was troubling me, making me forget the cruel world outside the two of us, even if for few hours. Whatever it was, suddenly I knew what I had to do. I didn't wonder. I didn't question myself. I just knew.

For the next hour or so I did what sky fairies do to recharge their batteries: spend time in the sun. I swam to warm up my sore muscles, then splayed myself by the pool and started working on my filters, trying real hard not to think about what I was preparing to do afterwards. It came to me that I was getting used to the duality of my new life: the common and sometimes mundane on the outside, supernatural on the inside. At the same time, the boundaries between the two had been slowly blurring. I deemed I was doing a very descent job so far, not panicking, or running away, or any of the old act. It seemed months (rather than a few weeks) had passed since I 'd spent my first day right here, in this very pool, treating myself to a lazy afternoon. Back then, I wasn't keeping my fingers crossed that the big yellow would help bring out the fae in me, because I would need every ounce of it. Back then, I didn't have the determination to go for it – all of it.

I called Tara and told her she was an awesome mom and I'd stop by soon to see the twins. Then I called Dermot, but not on the phone. When I explained what I was going to do, he became very agitated, in a bad way.

"Please, Uncle. I need you here." I couldn't predict what would happen to the bond. I was hopeful I'd be back before Eric would rise, but I just didn't have either the time, or the nerve to wait for the nightfall. "I left him a message, just in case, but if I'm… delayed, he should hear it from someone I trust."

"You want me…"

"To stay and keep a lookout. Valerie won't bother you either. It's gonna be fine," I smiled at him. "I promise."

"You cannot promise what you do not know," he said, deeply worried.

I didn't blame him: I was kind of scared, too, but there was no other choice in my mind. It's not hard to do the right thing; it's hard _not _to once you know what the right thing is.

Dermot gave me one last hug. "Be safe, Sookie."

I took a deep breath, shut my eyes, and concentrated, and when I opened my eyes again, I was in Faery.

.

EPOV

"Where is she?" I demand, willing my fangs back in.

The part-fairy takes a few steps back. "Faery."

One word, and Sookie's voice message makes perfect sense: _"I'm gonna try to see Niall. It's important. Don't worry, I'll be back before you know it. We'll talk, okay? I love you. Like there's no tomorrow."  
_

"What happened? Why did Niall need to see her?" How did he even get through to her?!

"He didn't," Dermot replies, quietly. His blue eyes do not stray away from mine, and the smell of fairy becomes stronger. He is afraid, but won't leave? "_She _did."

I probe the bond, over and over, hardly feeling my mate. My darkness in her is weak, feeble, almost silent. "She is not responding to my call." I say, frustrated. If so much as a hair falls off her head…

"I should try," Dermot suggests. Fairy call – it could work. It _has_ to work!

But, alas. "If she hears me, she won't answer."

Fucking fairies! What is it they want with her now? "Did she explain why?"

"She only said it was extremely important. For all of us, and not just fae."

I do not let panic and anger overwhelm me. She lives. She is safe as far as I can discern, at least not in any sort of pain; however, something is happening, and the bond vibrates, stronger and stronger.

The crystal on my chest becomes warmer and more lustrous by the second. Dermot stares at me in astonishment.

"It is done," he says. The net of fine fissures around his eyes is smoothing out, and his crestfallen expression changes to one of peacefulness and deliverance.

He looks… younger.

Before I even begin forming my next though, a soft sound startles me, and as I turn around, I see Sookie appearing not an arm's stretch away from me.

She addresses Dermot first. "Go home, Uncle. He's waiting for you."

His white light disappears from within my energy field.

Sookie locks her gaze with mine; the bond is about to erupt with her tension. I growl. She jumps, and I catch her, her hungry lips already on mine, kissing, murmuring I love you's, breathing my name out. Rough in my zeal to feel her close, I respond in kind, and the strength of her emotions make my fangs throb and my body zing.

My wife is home. I shall welcome her properly – with blood, fangs, and…


	22. Ch 13: Colliding with Fate Part 1

_A/N I've not been writing for the past couple of weeks, I confess. Don't want to burden you with details. We all have RLs that take priority over things we love to do just for the heck of it. Eric and Sookie still talk to me, there's not too much left to write, and maybe that's what puts me off a little, too. As much as I want to finish DTRT, it's weird that it's so close to end. Maybe, I should take a detour or two?_

_ Enjoy P1 of Ch 13, beware of missing lemons.  
_

**Ch 13: Colliding with Fate. Part 1  
**

_Morpheus__: Neo, sooner or later you're going to realize just as I did that there's a difference between knowing the path and walking the path. _

_from _**_The Matrix_**_ (1999)_

Freedom by xPearlescence

**SPOV**

**Wednesday Night, The Week of the Coronation**

Eric was still busy with my nipple, a bit sore from nibbles and hungry kisses. Lying with my back flat on his desk in the library, I was coming down after a round of very intense sex that unfortunately had ended too soon.

The metallic aftertaste of his blood on my palate, I sighed, and he stopped drinking and looked up at me, licking his lips. He was about to say something, when a ruby drop plopped from one fang onto my collar bone. Eric ducked down to clean it up, then went lower and swept the pierced skin where he'd bitten, healing the double punctures. The ends of his mussed up hair, spilled on top of me, tickled my neck and under my jaw with every move he made.

There's no place like home. Whatever had happened for the past hour seemed surreal, like a weird dream you don't care much to remember. I had an urge to forget that I'd crossed a threshold I didn't know existed, that I'd never perceive death the same way I had before…

"Are you ready to talk?" he asked – first coherent sentence since he saw me tonight.

I gripped his shoulders and firmly pushed him down. My dress, already torn in throes of passion, got in the way, and Eric finally ripped the front of it completely.

***EDITED CONENTE****

But it was going to take more than Eric's fangs and fingers to unwind the tight coil my mind had twisted into.

.

Fire and Ice SAI by Rheatheranger

_My feet sank inch-deep into a cold sludge on the bank of the Narrow River. The wide current was so weak the surface of the water, hardly rippled with exhausted waves, seemed a dark, solid mirror that reflected the gloomy skies. Draped with heavy gray clouds, they were frowning unfriendly at the dull landscape below them. The air was perfectly still and chilly. I shivered. It felt wrong here. Very wrong. _

_It was twilight in disturbingly mute Faery. I strained my enhanced senses, but didn't catch what I knew to be the usual sounds of nature. There were no birds singing and no small animals rustling in the shrubs, and not even a lightest wind stirred the tomb-like lethargy around me. I looked across the river, searching for any sign of life on the distant misty land. It appeared as somber and insipid there as it was on my side. _

_I plucked my feet out of the greasy mud and turned to the band of forest that climbed up the mild hill. The sloshing of my footfalls suddenly sounded obnoxious, and I hurried to reach dry turf in long strides only to find myself crushing a thick carpet of brittle ashy crescents covering the ground._

_The great Dahlls had been shedding their leaves, and now they were almost naked, having lost their splendid red lush. The blackened branches were frozen in their futile grasp for the sun that was hidden behind the ominous clouds. I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat. This was not the Faery Dermot had showed me. This was not the Faery I expected to find. My ancestors' world was becoming a part of the Lost Lands, and the forlorn silence that was engulfing me made me wince. Not a sentimental person, I couldn't help but think it smelled like death here._

_I listened with my mind as far as possible. Being unfamiliar with the local topography, I couldn't determine if I went over a mile in radius. I just kept scoping until I heard a broadcast. _

_Niall. _

_On an impulse, I threw my shields up. I didn't want to… touch him. Period. But it was childish of me and eventually unavoidable that I would, in fact, have to, I reminded myself, and albeit I didn't come here to discuss how poorly things had been left between us, I still couldn't completely ignore my aversion, which hadn't ebbed even after Preston's selfless redemption._

_However, I was set on not letting my personal drama get in the mix. My visit had a very specific purpose, and this was neither the time, nor the place to mend or break relationships._

_I zeroed in on Niall again and carefully slipped through the wall encircling his mind. This protective barricade was common for every fairy I'd encountered thus far, but Niall's had lost the characteristic glare and sturdiness Dermot's retained. It had to be the result of the isolation. Which also meant the situation in Faery was much worse than I'd imagined._

_Fairies can only jump into places they either have been to or are familiar with almost as well as if they have before, and so I peeked through Niall's eyes to learn his surroundings in order to teleport straight over there. He didn't seem to be aware of my intrusion, immersed into numb thoughts I stirred clear of. _

_Suddenly, the visual link was cut off: Niall must have closed his eyes. _

_"Dammit!" I hadn't seen enough to pop in, only to recognize white columns and stone floors. _

_The Old Temples._

_Thanking my uncle for the zillionth time, I recalled the lively memory, and the next thing I knew I was facing the astonishingly beautiful structure. Monumental, although not colossal, the Old Temples greeted me with crystal domes, vacant tall narrow windows, and abandoned cages of slim watch towers. Even devoid of the force and equilibrium, the construction struck me as something that had been erected to last forever, crafted into the very tissue of the universe._

_I dropped my filthy Nikes before stepping on the polished stones; I didn't want to desecrate the place that, holy for many, wasn't an object of worship for me, but rather a sanctuary and the last standing fort of Magic._

_Sad emptiness and quiet ruled inside. Patina of inevitable destruction seemed to corrupt everything. Stunned, in disbelief, I wandered past fissured statues that stood between delicate pillars. I breathed in the stale air, instantly missing the drift that used to breeze through the corridors and chambers and made every corner, every shadow, every sculpture and fresco here flutter with vibrant colors and tranquil life. _

_I was in the very heart of Faery – a heart that at long last had stopped beating. _

_As I made my way through the main grounds, locked on Niall's brainwave like some telepathic hound, I only saw arches, pilasters, and transparent curtains that created the maze of the floor plan, but not a single plain wall or a door, as if the Old Temples were designed to avoid enclosures and to convey openness and candor. _

_I found the Great Prince in a room that might be his private study: it wasn't too large, and if not for the crushing sense of doomed loneliness, I'd call it cozy. He was seated behind a massive piece of glossy wood in an abstract, irregular shape (a desk?) The intricacy of the dark grain patterns reminded of a work of an artist. There were shelves behind him, filled with scrolls, books, various small boxes, slender figurines and iridescent shells, wiry vases, and such – hardly ordinary souvenirs. _

_Niall didn't hear me come in. His face was buried into his hands, elbows on the desk. In the dim light slanting from the outside through the pillars on my left, I could clearly see brown blemishes on his skin. The cornsilk of his fine hair had turned white. The aura that always shimmered slightly around him, giving him the ethereal grace, was gone. _

_"Niall," I said, with Caelli cadence. _

_He didn't move at first. He thought it was a nasty trick of the deformed spark, that the isolation finally had gotten the best of him, and hallucinations would haunt him till the end. _

_"It's me, Sookie," I walked closer. "I'm here."_

_Niall leaned heavily on the top of the desk and slowly stood up. He was dreading showing me his face, and so was I – seeing it._

_He looked old and fragile like a dried twig. The pale, dotted with age spots skin was tight on the sharp cheekbones, and the once bright blue eyes were as vacant as the windows of the Old Temples. There was no light behind the façade. Only disappointment, grief, and regret. _

_Was I too late?_

_"How…" I had to clear my throat to find my voice. Moisture pooled in my eyes despite the efforts to remain calm. "How did it happen so quickly?" The fairies back home were still lucid, in the early stages of the sickness. _

_"Isolation runs faster and deeper where there is more magic," he replied, slightly moving his thinned lips. The words came out like a shuffle of paper. He was studying me, deciding if it was indeed me, in flesh and blood, talking to him, or if I was a figment of his demented imagination. Then he thought it didn't matter. _

_Apathy had already taken over him._

_"Don't you want to know how I got here?" I asked. _

_"How did you get here?" he parroted back._

_"I opened a passage."_

_He frowned. "Impossible."_

_"I wanted to see you. Remember what you said? There's still hope." And I needed him to believe there was, because I couldn't do this alone. _

_He sighed and sank back onto his seat. "Not anymore."_

_"Where is everybody?" Why weren't the fae gathered at the Old Temples, supporting, or demanding, or picketing him or something? Anything? Anything would be better than resigning to the fate. _

_"They retreated to meet the end with whatever dignity they could have. Alone. Everyone is alone when the time comes," Niall said in defeat. _

_I boiled up. "No!" I didn't cross between the worlds just to give up! "You have to do something! You're the Great Prince of Faery, for Christ's sake!" I yanked at his arm, not caring if I was hurting him. "Come on!"_

_Great Grandfather concluded that if I could physically hurt him, I was real._

_"Why did you want to see me?" he said louder, awaken from the mental paralysis, and a glimpse of urgency reanimated his corpse-like features. "You're in danger here. You must return!"_

_"Then help me." I went to his side of the desk and grabbed his both hands. They were so cold, and uncontrollable tremors – the telltale sign of the isolation in its final stages – began running through him. "Reopen the portals."_

_He gave me a helpless yet amused look that indicated my suggestion was preposterous at best. "I have no magic left, child."_

_"Yes, you do," very little, and it would only work if Niall himself truly wanted. (Free will, you see. Can't do shit without it.) "Don't' you want to beat this cancer? You're still alive. And you're still the most powerful of all fae."_

_His face contorted with torment. I was being cruel, but there was no other choice. _

_He hugged me and tucked my head under his chin. Was he so far gone he was unable to feel the ancient spirit in me? Or had he willingly accepted the death as a punishment for failing? Then, it was useless appealing to his self-preservation instinct. _

_"What about your people? Remember how important you are for them. For Faery." _

_"I did this to them."_

_"You can fix it," I said softy, switching to Caelli. "Your men are cheering for you, Prince Niall. They call out your name with a smile, they hail and salute you, and their loyalty makes your heart swell with joy. And you're proud to carry the burden. You're the only one who can, and they believe in you." _

_My words agitated him. Genuine leader, his sense of duty was stronger than his guilt. I felt the resolve with which Niall summoned whatever remnants of himself he could still claim free from the killer spark that was coursing through him, shattering and burning him from the inside. Once it burnt through him completely, it would die out. Not even a handful of ashes would remain. _

_"I'd give anything to restore the order," Niall whispered. "I'd give my life."_

_I believed him. With that, I let his spark, raving mad, in. I expected it to happen the same way it had with Preston – sluggish lava overflowing into me, then gradually speeding up, while I'd gather my strength and wait for the right moment to channel it into the fairy, when he'd be fully connected to me. In theory, Niall would get a boost of ancient spirit and it should refuel his powers to restart the main pipeline feeding Faery. _

_But the instance his spark hit me, I realized too late I wasn't prepared for it. I'd made a fatal mistake. I should have paid more attention when he was explaining about the isolation running faster and deeper. He wasn't referring solely to the speed of the process; he was referring to its intensity, too._

_Niall was the Great Prince not for nothing. Because he used to have more magic than any other fae, his deformed spark was that much stronger, that much more lethal. Having consumed almost all of him, it had turned into a vicious incinerator, leaving his material shell cold and listless. _

_And now it got into me. The heat wasn't sluggish at all. It was an uncontainable malicious flood, and I started chocking. I jerked with all my might to break away from Niall, but his arms were greedily holding me roped against his chest. A part of me knew this wasn't his doing; it was his darn spark that found an outlet and was rushing to destroy me, too. _

_It was too sudden. Too crashing. Too much… and I lost it. I knew that instead of resisting, I should have used that fraction of a second to strike, that struggling against the spark was pointless. But the wild compulsion to survive drowned the last rational thought. _

_It was a short, brutal clash for a gasp, for something cool, for a sip of fresh water, for a shred of clear skies, for a ray of sun, for a single heartbeat, for a moment of existence, for Eric's smile, for one last kiss… Blood pounding in my ears, I thought of the irony of my last words to him. There would be no tomorrow. I was going to die, and…_

_._

"Lover? What's wrong?"

I blinked, focusing on Eric's anxious face.

"Was I too gruff?"

I took a firm grasp of his head, pulled him in for a kiss, and then whispered a few words – a wish – into his ear.

Excitement surged in him, but he hesitated, sensing I wasn't in my usual frame of mind. He was right – I'd changed.

I hopped off the desk and pressed myself against him.

"I _want_ this," and I gripped his erect manhood. He hadn't finished the second time around. "And this," I touched his fangs and slid my hand on his chest, "And this."

"Insatiable," he purred, bucking his hips. The tear of a dragon was glowing with gold against the white of his skin.

"Alive." And I needed to feel it again, all over, "With you."

_._

_…I did. Every part of me that was alive died. _

_Except the part that wasn't alive to begin with. Somehow, Eric's blood was immune to the killer spark, and it was my last line of defense. How exactly the vampire essence revived me I don't know – I was dead, after all – but then came the voices. _Fight! _they sang. Screamed. Bit. Slapped. _FIIIGHTTTT!

_I was dragged back into alertness. My lungs didn't expand. My vision was crisp, my mind brisk. My temperature had dropped, chilling me _and _Niall's spark. I zapped him. I blasted him hard, with rage, vengeance, relief, thrill, my love for Eric – with everything both precious and repugnant I had in me. I left nothing to myself._

_The bond was active. It swirled around me, and I let it drag me away from the man who'd just killed me. My knees gave out, and I collapsed on the floor, coughing and sputtering. My heart finally gave a painful thud. Niall gleamed with blindingly pure light, and I covered my sensitive eyes, but could still see with my mind. Fairies' true form is undetectable by a common man's sight. In that moment, I saw the real Niall Brigant – a shining sun of fairy magic. _

_I couldn't hear his thoughts anymore. _

_The earth shook. Somewhere within the Old Temples a low, faint drone was born. With every wave of power Niall emitted, the noise intensified, making me dizzy. A breeze brushed against my face. If felt like a cool caress. It picked up, until gale-force wind blew with a whistle. It penetrated my body and shocked me with amazing energy. _

_I felt electrified. Invigorated. Humming with primal force._

_._

Eric bit into his palm...

****EDITED CONTENT*****

"Turn around," he said.

.

My World and Welcome to It. by Phatpuppyart

_A thunder erupted above our heads, then another, farther away, and another. When the skies' bellow became very distant, I realized it was over. _

_"I am in your debt."_

_I opened my eyes at the sound of his voice. _

_Niall was standing tall in front of me. His hair, ruffled by the current of fresh air, was floating around his head like a golden halo. The ugly markings of age were disappearing off his face as if being erased by a magical eraser. No longer senile, my great grandfather looked every bit the powerful and eminent patriarch of Faery that he was._

_"I am in your debt," he repeated, "Faery is in your debt."_

_"I'd rather you keep this to yourself."_

_"If that's what you wish. Though, I must ask."_

_How did you know, why did you do this, yada, yada, yada…_

_"What are you?"_

_I didn't foresee that. "Human. Good, old-fashion human." I wasn't lying: gatekeepers were actually humans. With a special quirk. Well, more than one quirk, but… what I did to Niall was as relevant to my gaia roots as it was to my fairy genes. "I am also Brigant. And vampire's bonded. Take your pick."_

_My curt tone didn't discourage him. Maybe, it was petty of me that I hadn't forgiven him. I eased my conscience that at least I saved his ass and now he'd stick around. Who knows, when I'm hundred years old, perhaps, I'll let him make it up to me. _

_The atmosphere was changing. The light shifted and became brighter and warmer. Delicate aroma of flowers and of a forest washed with spring rain wafted into my face. It smelled better than Dermot remembered._

_"It will take a while, but Faery will bloom again," Niall said, inhaling along with me. "How can I thank you?" _

_"That's not necessary," I held up my hand. "But if it weren't for Dermot, I wouldn't be able to teleport here." I decided not to mention the memories he'd shared. Not only it was personal; I didn't want Niall to know I could read fairies when they weren't shining like disco balls. "He taught me great deal."_

_He nodded immediately, without going further into it. "Dermot will be rewarded."_

_"Let's make something clear. You're not doing this as a favor to me. It's between you and him. He deserves a chance. And if not an apology , then at least an explanation."_

_"Of?"_

_"Arianna. You killed her centuries ago and buried without a headstone." Her execution was the reason the two Brigants had become enemies. Dermot had showed me his side of the story, hiding nothing: how he met a woman with an angelic smile and how he had given her the crystal as symbol of his love. She would not have parted from it, and she had been murdered, thrown in a trench and covered with dirt, wearing it around her neck. Dermot had found her bones during his travels after Claude and I had lifted the curse. He'd mourned her and had planted an ash-tree where she was resting. _

_And that's when Gòro had caught a glimpse of the tear of a dragon again._

_"An ancient oracle predicted that humans with special powers would bring death to the realm of fae," Niall said. "I was protecting Faery. Arianna…"_

_"Didn't have to die. Humans didn't do this," I made a sweeping gesture, "You did. And _this_ human," I pointed at myself, "with special powers, by the way, helped you undo the damage."_

_"The prophecy has turned on itself." _

_His stubborn refusal to see the obvious contradictions irked me. "Take a look around. Because of this prediction you killed innocent men and women. Your own family – my family – suffered as a result, and yet the isolation nearly destroyed hundreds of your own kind. Your entire world! The prophesy is…" I bit my tongue. The contract was very specific: if I break the oath of secrecy, Eric and I die. But I had to make sure the same mistakes would not be repeated in the future. "The prophecy doesn't matter, Niall. Only your choice not to abide by it." _

_Under any other circumstances it would be nothing short of laughable that a young human girl was preaching wisdom to a fairy prince. Niall didn't laugh. Already he conjured I was more than a human-fairy breed and that I knew more than I led on. The gears were turning in his head, as he recounted other instances when he himself doubted the oracle – some creature that had died so long ago no one could even describe it. _

_"It's crucial for everyone that Faery is never shut off again," I said. _

_He agreed, without pondering too long. I gave him a long, inquisitive look. "And if someone tries to slink in or out?"_

_"I will double the guard. No one will pass without my express permission. I will also enforce the gates with a spell: whoever disobeys my order will suffocate within the portal."_

_I swallowed hard. "Okay. That'll do."_

_"But you, my great granddaughter," he smiled at me, "are always welcome. Faery is also your home."_

_I didn't say thank you. I glanced outside. My curiosity was luring me into going out and exploring. Several fae crossed into my telepathic zone. A few more followed. They were drawn to the Old Temples as if it were a beacon. I gathered very soon the empty halls would be thronged. Then the bond wrinkled. Eric was up, looking for me. And Dermot, too, was calling me, modulating with alarm. _

_Maybe, I shouldn't have left him alone with an angry vampire. Then again, it was the time they cut the crap and get over this ridiculous feud._

_"What about Britlingen dimension?" I asked Niall, ignoring the calls. "Have you opened those portals, as well?"_

_"Yes. You are well informed."_

_"Preston's dead." I said matter-of-factly. "I told Eric everything. He wants your head on a platter."_

_Niall paused. "For violating your trust."_

_He was making a progress._

_"You betrayed me. And you broke the blood code. Every supe I know respects it." Even the genie does! Why couldn't he? Too arrogant to show regard to a vampire? To his human kin? _

_Niall didn't respond to my scolding, not that I actually needed him to. Anything he'd have to say would be a moot point. And I'd already heard it all the last time._

_"There are boundaries you cannot cross," I said, formulating my every word very carefully so that he wouldn't think I was threatening him. "I won't tolerate that. Especially when it comes to me and Eric. I will always take his side. If you can't accept that, Louisiana will never be safe for you." Not a threat – a fair warning. It was not in Eric's ruthless nature to forget offenses._

_Niall understood. "Vampires do have long memories," he said. "But I shall not forsake you. When Faery is healthy and strong, I will call upon Eric."_

_That's exactly what we needed on top the Ancients, Felipes, and Victors – a fairy family reunion. ""Let's just take a step back and see how things play out. I'm sorry, I'm not ready to offer more than that."_

_Eric kept tugging at me. His anger became more tempered, colored with worry. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my vampire._

_"Are you happy with him?"_

_"I couldn't have asked for a better man." _

_"Good. Because you are bonded to him for a very long time, child." A number flashed in his mind. "Tell Dermot I am waiting for him."_

_I did, as soon as I popped back at the Glass house, and without being asked twice, Dermot scooted into Faery, leaving me and Eric alone._

_Eric was always in me. Always with me. Romanticism of the notion aside, the gift of his blood was more than beauty, fast reactions, and strength. It was the immeasurable potential and knowledge his darkness carried – knowledge someone who had overcome death only possessed. _

_He could never find out he'd lost me, even for a miniscule period of time. It would hurt him more than anything, and I cared too much to hurt him with the unvarnished truth._

_Future would prove the fallacy of my logic, but at that moment, I was convinced I was making the right decision for the both of us._

_He had to have rushed upstairs the second he'd discovered I was gone. He had foregone clothes. He stood still, stark naked and intimidating, and if I didn't know better, I'd be scared. He was my magnet. My foundation. My savior. My endagerer._

_His frustration was swiftly transforming into desire, rolling in the bond. I read his mood in his essence even before his fangs would give away his intentions._

_I couldn't tell him. Didn't mean I shouldn't thank him. And I knew just the way to do it. _

_._

As much as Eric could be sweet and gentle, he could also be rock-hard and aggressive.

****EDITED CONTENT*****

I fell into vampiric vortex, and it pulled me in. I had no idea it could ever feel so good, so right, so… eternal. Yes, it was eternal. There was no other word to describe the happiness that flooded us.

"Breathe, my lover," he rasped, exhausted. "Breathe."

Tears – hot, stinging tears – were streaming down my temples, and Eric silently wiped them off, thoughtfully allowing me the moment of revelation.

"God, I love you," I whispered. "I love you more than you know. I'd come back from the dead for you."

"I hope you never need to." He lowered his head and kissed my lips. He finally stopped moving.

"Stay," I said. I wasn't ready to let him go. Not yet.

Soothingly, he stroked my hair. "I'm right here."

"I didn't want you to worry."

"I know, my love. But when I rise and do not find my wife by my side, I worry. Always. I worry even more when I do not know where she is. So would you, if the roles were reversed."

"This morning, when I told you I didn't want you to be tied up by the bond if I got stranded, I didn't know I'd be visiting Faery."

He smiled, "Of course, you didn't." He rolled on his back, and I snuggled into his side, draping my leg over his. "You would not be so cruel as to give me such an ambiguous warning and then disappear into another world. You would be straight with me."

"Do I hear a hint of sarcasm there?"

"Far from it."

I tilted my head up to see him, and he looked at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I enjoy your directness very much."

I arched an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean, mister?"

"'My favorite flavor forever' was nice, but 'Fuck me harder' is a home run. That is the correct expression, yes?"

"Not funny!" I slapped his chest. Ouch!

He had the audacity to laugh. "Inflicting pain for pleasure is not my style, just so you know. Slapping is off the menu."

"You're incorrigible," but I was already laughing with him. One of the many things I loved about Eric – with minimal effort, he was able to lighten my mood and change the outlook on the bleakest and most depressing events. "The portals are open," I said. "That's where Dermot went – Faery."


	23. Ch 13: Colliding with Fate Part 2

**Ch 13: Colliding with Fate. Part 2  
**

**EPOV**

Sex with her is like celebration, almost a tribute. She spurs me on. She claims me like no other ever has. I give her my all, and in return, she gives me utter content and reassurance. It feels unearthly perfect – being with her. Being hers.

Finally, she is calm. The bond, renewed, is stable and bright. My craving for Sookie's warm closeness matches her need to be connected to me, and, wrapped in each other, we lie on a carpet, too spent to move on the sofa.

My imagination paints a monochrome picture of isolated Faery as Sookie relates her story. I listen with great unease. To say her endeavor was risky is to say nothing. However, I do not chide or rebuke her; nor do I wish to emphasize the danger she put herself into. She knows all that. I trust her judgment, and I shall stand behind my words: I will not stop her should she decide her duty or conscience calls her elsewhere. My only concern is that she does not keep me in the dark, no matter how inconsequential she believes her quest to be.

Her account of meeting Niall raises a wave of tangled emotions in her, as she tells me of his shriveled state, both physical and mental.

"I convinced him he could fix everything. He was prepared to do whatever it takes." The bond goes… blank. "And dying in the process was the most likely outcome."

"A close encounter with death does not exonerate one from one's past wrongdoings."

Her mouth curves in a strange, harsh smile. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"In this particular case, yes, I do. Go on."

"There's not much to tell. I'm a very weak best I can do is to open a small gap. Niall was too distraught to restore the order, and I knew that even if he was healthy again, he still wouldn't have enough power to unlock Faery – not without tapping into the main pipeline that feeds the ocean of the ancient spirit. It was the key, so I did to him what I did to Preston – boosted his system, only this time I channeled my gaia through him specifically for that. My magic sort of topped his, and we reopened the source. I don't know how to describe it, but that pipeline is like Faery's main artery. It pumps this amazing energy into their world. Once it was working again, Niall was able to unseal the rest of the portals by himself. Because he's the ruling prince, he doesn't have to be a gatekeeper to do that. When he's plugged into the source, he literally commands Faery, he's that great. Then we had a short conversation, and I left before the Old Temples got swarmed with fairies."

What a brilliant idea – to remedy Niall and use him as leverage! An orthodox and excellent thinking at its best, coupled with courage, and I tell her so.

"How did you learn you could transfer your skill to him?" I ask. What _we_ have – the exchange of powers – is possible because of the high bond. May her familial tie to Niall be responsible for the miracle she has performed in Faery?

"The same way I share my mood or emotions with others. I suppose it's another ability of mine. Remember the Nest of Four? You said I was like a catalyst. In actuality, I felt inspired, and I shared my mood with them. Not my fault I was also…"

"Horny."

She rolls her eyes at me. "Yes. And last Sunday, during the fight at Alcede's, I made him calm down and call the rest of the Weres off of Preston and Val. He was in his animal form and wouldn't listen even if I smacked him with a baseball bat. I had to do something, and I purposefully influenced him. I just didn't think about it at the time."

This particular crumb of information is new to me.

"Today I realized there was a pattern," Sookie continues. "Gòro was here, and I wanted to thank him for what he did for me. He said I shared my joy with him. That got me thinking."

"Gòro was here?"

"Um, yeah. I invited him for a chat. He tried to glamour me, by the way. Very charming."

Bewildered, I stare at my woman. "_Charming. _Only you would call a genie charming. You are playing with fire, and I do not mean in a figurative sense."

"Don't be such a grumpy old man. Gòro and I are on more or less friendly terms now. He showed me a few telepathic tricks, so I made him feel a little better is all. He's very lonely. Being an ultra-super-mindreader will do that to you."

My chest suddenly tightens. Preston, Dermot, and Niall I understand – being fae by blood, she could remedy their sparks (a temporary fix, though,) but the genie… "Did you… heal him?"

"No," she replies softly. "I'm no Sola. I can't heal, and even if I could, I wouldn't leave you and go hopping through the Lost Lands."

I conceal none of my relief.

"Not unless you grew very tired of me," Sookie adds.

"You'd have to stake me first."

"I'm insulted you'd even suggest I have it in me," in mock horror, she presses her palm to her heart. "And here I was thinking you were committed to make our marriage stand the test of time for, like… oh, I don't know, seven hundred years or something."

I sit up straight, startled. Could it be?… "Do not tease, lover."

The playfulness of the moment is suddenly gone. "Niall thought the number right before I teleported back home."

I could not have wished for better news. Sookie pulls me back into her embrace.

"Gotcha. Admit it, Viking."

I do, wholeheartedly.

She tells me fae longevity depends on how strong the essential spark is, and not how much fairy blood she was born with. Dermot explained it to her a while back, and Niall has confirmed it is no longer a hope but a reality. If I factor in the high bond, she may live almost as long as I have. Yes, that is a very good reason to celebrate the way we have.

While there is time before the sun sets and Vlad joins us for the night, I wish to know why. Why today, of all days, why in such haste did she venture into the dying realm? Why not wait until I would rise, for I could have helped her through the bond?

"Because I was afraid I was running out of time as it was," Sookie looks at me, pensive. "There was a good chance it was more than Faery's wellbeing on the line."

"How so?"

"After I read the grail, I kept reminiscing about your conversation with the Ancient Pythoness. She pretty much told you there had been a shift between the worlds, and Britlingen dimension became inaccessible. It all happened about the same time Niall cut Faery off."

"Yes."

"Didn't she also tell you she was helping you with Amun for selfish reasons?"

I nod. Indeed, the all-seeing one's comment did seem mysterious to me, but in a political game such as the present one, it was not surprising, but rather expected she had her own interests to protect.

"I think when Niall cooped up Faery, he triggered that shift. You know what it means – more Lost Lands, further deformation of the remaining magic in every disconnected world … Add that to the fact one of the Ancient Order shows up at our doorstep and demands that I read magic balls – for what? To build a pool of vampire blood intended to save your race. The only reasonable explanation I came up with was that they were worried _our _world would become corrupt, too. Humans won't feel a thing, but supernaturals would go through changes. Maybe, malignant or even deathly changes."

Sookie's radical theory impresses upon me profoundly. I bethink myself of my earlier conversation with Vlad, of Kha's unusually candid behavior and his final wish. Facts as I know them fit. "Vlad did mention the Order is pressuring him to complete the project. If you're right – and I'm inclined to believe you are – you have…"

"You can stop right there," she cringes. "I hate how it sounds. So… corny."

Yet, that is exactly what she has done – saved all those in danger, and first and foremost Faery, from certain death.

"On a separate note, if Valerie is coming with us to Vegas, she needs more time off before that," Sookie says. "It's going to be another grueling weekend for all of us. Why don't you let her have tonight? Vlad's here, and we'll come over to Fangtasia to see you later if he doesn't have anything else to do. I bet Pam would love to meet him."

My brother's essence spikes with light blue. He has awoken minutes before the sun is set. His immediate agitation is evident in the chaotic flow of the patterns. He must have received word from either Kha or Gòro, who undoubtedly witnessed the major shift unlocking Faery has created. "You can ask Vlad yourself. He'll be on his way to find us shortly."

"Oh, shit!" Sookie scrambles up to her feet.

"Vlad is a close friend," I say, watching her carefully and gauging her reaction. My _only _vampire friend. "And you are my wife. He respects you. He will not make you feel uncomfortable."

"Honestly, Eric," she suddenly smiles at me, amused, and her smile is brighter than the largest sapphire in the Sunset around her neck. She cups her full breasts and slightly fondles them, then slowly runs her right hand down to the triangle of blond locks. "I'm not worried he'll make me feel uncomfortable. I'm worried he'll be the one feeling uncomfortable."

She is not embarrassed, and I find it extremely erotic and exciting that she is confident enough to entertain the idea of allowing her bare body to be seen by others who love her. They would treasure her, like I do; they would prize her like Rassini does, but – from safe distance. Besides, there will come time when she will have hired help around, and those in service are bound to witness their masters' nudity.

"You have changed," I slide my fangs out. Her every movement is a bold statement: _I'm beautiful. I'm strong. I'm untouchable_. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I love you. You're mine. I'm not going to hide that. But make no mistake, my darling husband," she raises a finger in warning, drawing my attention to her face again. "Vlad is still our guest, and I do have manners. And it's plain rude to let your guests see you like this," and she glances down at my hardening cock.

"Can you blame me?"

She laughs. "You clean up the room. I'll get you some clothes."

She disappears, leaving me in a fully aroused state. My energy spread wide, I detect her golden shimmer downstairs in our chamber. I chuckle to myself. Unbelievable! Never in a thousand years have I had a woman tease me and get away, tasking me to _clean up the room. _

Lazily, I stand up and stretch my muscles. My body pleasantly aches, as if it has gone through an intense, refreshing physical workout – a new sensation I find myself savoring. I cast a look around the disarrayed space my work area currently presents. The desk has gotten pushed farther to the wall, the computer keyboard on the floor, papers scattered everywhere, and the carpet we made love on is crumpled and bunched up. The fumes of sex and blood are thick in the air.

Vlad steps out of the elevator as I finish collecting the documents and arranging them on the desk. He halts his approach almost immediately, inhaling, then proceeds slower.

"Sookie's not here," I tell him.

"I am sorry to interrupt," Vlad says, in an all-inclusive glance assessing my condition and that of the room. "But I'm afraid my news can't wait."

"Gòro has opened his third eye again."

He nods, not surprised. Well, that's not news for either of us. There has to be something else.

"Sookie needs to hear it, too."

"She will be a minute. She was very concerned not to damage your delicate nature."

Vlad's expression remains as neutral and composed, but the tips of his fangs glisten against his lip. "Is that Ketchup on your dick?"

"Fuck off, brother."

"Gladly. My delicate nature is already suffering."

I quickly clean myself in the bathroom. As I do so, I examine my reflection with amazement in the mirror above the sink. My abdomen and groin are stained with blood. The red has eaten into the rough skin of my palms and coloured a few strands of hair. For the first time in my undeath these are not signs of an injury, a callous feed, or a kill. There are slight traces of Sookie's fluids on my face. Not without a dash of regret, I remove those marks of her love off me. But it is my eyes staring back at me that make me realize how deeply _I _have changed. In this moment, completely unguarded, I recognize clearly what Vlad saw in me last morning – _her_.

Sookie returns, fresh and smiling, and hands me a change of clothes. My mobile is on top of the neat stack. "I'm gonna go say hi to Vlad."

I dress with human speed, listening to her greeting Vlad and asking if he rested well and him rumbling politely in response. Sookie's emotions are even, her mood friendly and sincere. It pleases me to no end she harbors no contempt toward him. Her capacity for forgiveness and tolerance is immense. That Niall has not earned her absolution is a testament to how grave his crime against her trust was. Yet, she saved him, preserving his dominant status in his world, and that is a favor he will hardly ever be able to repay.

"As I was saying to Sookie," Vlad turns to me upon my entering the room, "Gòro has been blustering to join us, insisting he will behave, but Kha has entrusted me with delivering the news."

"I suppose he's already seen though Dermot I went to Faery to see Niall," Sookie remarks.

"To a place called Old Temples."

"Yes. It's holy for all fae."

"It's more than that. The Old Temples are one of the original junctions where multiple bridges and passages of Magic used to cross."

"And?"

"You have jumpstarted the ancient maze, or at least a section of it. There is a possibility some of the Lost Lands will become accessible again. Do you realize what that entails?"

It takes me a second to grasp the true scale of the implication. "Babylon. It means Babylon."

"It also means Sookie has bought us time, Eric. Building the vault is no longer an emergency. However, the Order is gathering soon to discuss what measures they ought to undertake."

"This is a double-edged sword, indeed."

"You think there's danger?" Sookie glances at me, startled.

"We may not overlook there may be," Vlad answers. "I believe the Order will send someone through the Old Temples into the Lost Lands, to establish if there is a threat to our worlds. To explore. We must be ready for anything."

"But Niall's already spelled _every _gate in Faery. That has to be including the pipeline. No one can pass without his approval."

"At this point we cannot leave such decisions solely upon his discretion."

"Well, there will be no traffic through the Old Temples in the near future. Take my word for it." Sookie's anxiety alerts me there is something she does not wish to share with Vlad. "Prince Brigant's top priority is to rebuild Faery, not to facilitate magical Grand Central."

"I am authorized by the Ancients to ask both you and Eric if you will agree to act as an ambassador and bring your Great Grandfather to the negotiating table. Or would you rather represent Faery's interests?"

Sookie is taken aback. "I can't speak on Niall's behalf."

Vlad looks at her attentively. "Please consider the offer. You don't need to give your answer right away. But it is imperative that the Prince is aware of the situation. The Ancient Order prefers the path of least resistance."

"If he's not with them, then he's against them? Is that it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"This is a sensitive family matter," I tell Vlad The dialog is turning into a confrontation even before I discuss the Ancients' offer with my woman, alone. "Above all, we must be certain the Order will not use this as means to bind Sookie further to them. She will not serve the Ancients in any capacity."

Naturally, we all agree on the latter, and Vlad tactfully excuses himself, giving us some privacy.

Sookie is frustrated. "Do they even care we have another crisis on our hands?"

"Not really."

"What if I die? Or you die?"

"They may interfere at the last moment, but there is no guarantee. It is better to ignore the Ancients' existence when it comes to our fight."

In my mind, I quickly go through very few options that could help us avoid interfering with this world-class clusterfuck. Unfortunately, I see no way out. They have made the wisest choice for an ambassador. Sookie is the ideal candidate: Niall owes her, they are family with a complicated history, and she has a personal stake in the matter, for she is bonded to a vampire who will be affected should a new war between our races break out.

They will not agree to replace her.

"I will speak to Niall," Sookie says, after a minute of intense thinking. "Personal conflicts aside, this is too important for both sides. If there's danger, Faery can only benefit from some kind of alliance – if that's a true alliance the Ancients have in mind. Niall has cast a spell on every portal so those who are not welcome will choke to death on the spot, but I can go to Faery any time I want. "

"No. Call him here."

"Are you sure?" she asks quietly. "I have no doubt you can control yourself, but I also know how you feel about him."

"In the light of the recent developments, my wish to bring him death would not serve us well. If I kill him, Dermot is to take the throne, and he is not suited for the job. An internal war for power will begin, and that will complicate things for us here. Therefore, I must bide my time and let your great grandfather live. For now."

Sookie sighs, suddenly weary.

"Call him," I put my hand on her shoulder, "and if my presence will bother you _or _him, let him come during the day. He has no access to our bedroom. Your wards will protect me in case if his intentions are ill. And you should not be alone with him, either."

"You mean, call Dermot, too?"

"Gòro."

Her first reaction is disbelief and surprise, then the idea settles in. "That could work. He represents the Ancients and he's not undead. I can bring them together and convince Niall to give it a shot. But I won't move a finger to help vampires if they don't hold their end of a bargain. Faery is weak and vulnerable, but it's not for grabs. It's my home, too. A fair alliance is my condition. If the Order doesn't like it, they can go fly a kite."

My phone rings. Alluni.

Sookie stands before me, not taking her eyes away from mine during the entire conversation. She can hear his every word: the diversion plan has been initiated as of tonight, and the first group of vampires will be arriving to my area tomorrow for detailed instructions.

I call Pam (she has left me several messages already, then finally texted an angry face emoticon.) No news from Eve so far, and that is a troubling sign. I tell her to gather the Ridley-Madden raid crew. "Fangtasia, after closing. Make sure they know not to be followed."

I put the phone away, contemplating many issues at once. I have to make an appearance at the club, let Nevada people see me, talk to Ridley, and brief Pam before the meeting, for we are yet to discuss the attack and takeover strategies approved by the Amun council.

"Let's talk to Vlad first," Sookie suggests.

We find my brother in the kitchen, a bottle of True Blood before him, as he types with vampire speed on his cell phone. I inform him on Sookie and my decision, and Vlad nods enthusiastically, his only reservation being the genie's involvement.

"Gòro is like an unstable volcano. He can erupt at a slightest hint of provocation, despite him knowing how important it is to remain calm."

"He's been here this afternoon," Sookie says. "I am willing to give him a chance, Vlad."

Vlad tilts his head to the side. "I've heard something about fire extinguishers."

Sookie blushes. "It was more a prop than anything else."

"Just to show him you have a fire of your own." Vlad looks at me. "All right. I shall speak to Kha."

"Are you staying for the night?" I ask him.

"Maybe, two. It largely depends on what the Order's answer to your deal will be. If they agree, I'd rather stay here and help you us much as I can with the Ancients. They can be a real pain in the neck sometimes."

"I appreciate it, brother. You'll be staying with us, of course."

"As long as Sookie approves," he gives her a smile he uses whenever he wishes a person to like him without glamour.

She assures him that is perfectly fine with her, and if he does not mind to keep her company, a visit to Fangtasia is in order tonight. "Have you met Eric's child Pam?"

"I have heard a lot about her."

The plans settled, Vlad goes outside to make his phone calls. Sookie walks with me to the garage, reminding me to release Raven for the night. Good-byes are hard, even now. Especially now. I kiss her with longing, and she loops her arms around my neck, pressing against me.

"I shall see you soon, wife."

"Okay. You, too, be careful."

"Always."

As I park in my usual space in front of Fangtasia, I make an effort to switch my mind from the epic and magical to a smaller bloody-fucking-political local arena. Survival first.

I go inside, checking on the staff readying for the opening hour, and they great me, as always, with great respect. I do my due diligence, walking through the premises, and Garry follows me, answering my routine questions. Pam is in my office, going over my e-mails and taking care of junk, leaving only important messages for me to look at. Ridley is by her side, watching her speedy work.

Pam gets up to let me take my seat in front of the computer. I ask her what she has for me, and we begin with Area Five incident reports.

Business as usual.

Yet, I see everything in a different light. Nights as we know them are about to change, and only a handful of people will ever know.

___← Previous Next →_


	24. Ch 14: The Right to Sacrifice Part 1

_A/N Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Wishing you the best in 2013, lots of health, happiness, laughter, and money. _

**Ch 14: The Right to Sacrifice. Part 1**

The first obelisk by SpaceWeaver

**SPOV**

**Wednesday Before Midnight, The Week of the Coronation**

Every house has a special place where family gets together and where every member prefers spending time, alone or in a company of those closest to him or her. It is a place elected by an unspoken yet unanimous vote of all the habitants as the most welcoming and protected. This is where secrets are shared and plans are laid out. Fathers and sons have their first manly talk here, and daughters confess of their first kiss to their mothers. Such corner is favored by every person who lives in the house, and even visitors are compelled to steer over to it because of the unexplained comfort they experience just by being there.

You love reading here, curled up on a sofa, or, perched on a chair, work on your computer, lost in what you are doing. You enjoy the simplest meal, seated at the table, as if this is the finest restaurant you have ever dined at. The cup of coffee you sip, standing there and looking out the windows, is the most delicious drink you have had in your entire life. The content that envelopes you seems like coming from within yourself. Perhaps, your family has lived there for generations, and you feel as if their legacy is all around you. Or, perhaps, the walls of the house you call home have been yours only for a few weeks, and you have merely started to draw your own history afresh, using a unique palette of hopes and dreams, as well as worries and heartaches that are inseparable from a journey that is life.

I am lucky. There is more than one place I call home, and neither one carries less importance to me than the other.

The Glass house had many cozy nooks, but nothing could compare to the large kitchen of chrome, blue, and glass. Although beautifully designed, it used to bear rather cold and impersonal look (before I set my foot there, that is.) Since then, the space had become most frequently used by me, Val, and even Eric, and everyone who has ever stopped by or popped in was unconsciously drawn here. And so when I came back inside from the garage after seeing Eric off, it didn't surprise me at all to find Vlad sitting by the counter, engrossed into reading something on his cell phone.

"Nothing yet," he immediately informed me, setting the pone aside. "Kha will call as soon as he discusses your conditions with the rest."

We made small talk while I quickly tossed a salad and built a solid sandwich for myself and warmed another bottle of Blue Blood for him. Vlad asked what my life was like in Bon Temps and if I considered living in Shreveport and basically being unemployed tolerable, to which I replied I didn't mind the switch so long as I had Eric, and that I didn't feel completely removed from my friends and family.

"As far as work, I wish I could say I have more time on my hands than I know what to do with. And waitressing wasn't an idle job either."

"Forgive me for saying this, but that kind of occupation may hardly be intellectually appealing for someone like you."

"It was honest and straightforward, and it paid the bills," I said, and if that came out harsher than intended, he let it slide, unfazed.

"You must have lacked perspective."

I stifled a sigh. Vlad was definitely not giving up on getting to know me better. It was easier to answer than deflect.

"Yes, at times I did." And I'd ask myself what would happen when I turned forty. Fifty. Would I still be hustling and bustling about, carrying heavy trays and full pitchers with bear? "But I suppose working at the diner grew into a habit, and I never really stopped to think through what's next and then actually do it. Eventually, I would move on, though."

"To another job."

"That, or go back to school. Take online classes or even enroll in college at night."

"Without your telepathy hindering your academic progress?" Vlad asked, with a hint of surprise.

"I became real good at shielding when I was in my late teens," I gave my guest a tad wee daring look. With all the snooping the Order had done, he should know better. "Besides, people who take night classes are usually working adults who need a degree for promotion or to change careers. They don't go to college for fun or because their parents force them to."

"I see. Their thoughts are mostly concentrated on the subject and not on everything but." Vlad rolled the bottle of blood between his palms, watching me as I moved around in the kitchen, fixing my meal. "What was holding you back?"

"I liked my job. Most of the town folks accepted me in their own way, and I, too, quit paying attention to what some of them think of me." People of Bon Temps might be narrow-minded sometimes, but there was goodness in their hearts, right along with prejudice. It had taken me years, tears, and oodles of disappointment to learn to separate one from the other. If I were to start some place new, I'd have to go through that hell again, and I didn't want to. No crime or shame in that. "The most important reason why I wasn't in a hurry to make major changes was that I had my Grandmother, and I wasn't going to leave her for vague opportunities."

"That is very admirable."

"It wasn't a sacrifice. I loved her, and I loved spending time with her. Then a vampire walked into Merlotte's. Things have never been simple since."

"If you could live anywhere, where would that be?"

I shrugged. How would I know if I hadn't really been anywhere? Still, I humored him. "I'm not suited for big city life, that's for sure. I'd have to constantly get away to let my mind rest. Ideally, I'd like to travel, see the world. But if I ever move somewhere far, I'll be visiting Bon Temps as often as possible."

Vlad's phone kept annoyingly beeping the whole time he was grilling me with a thousand questions. He fumbled with the device, joking about big fingers and small buttons, and I suggested he use the laptop I had brought from the library earlier that day.

"Thank you," he said, starting the machine, as I finally sat at the edge of the counter so that I could see him better. "I do have a few important matters I must follow up on."

I used the break to discreetly study Vlad while he focused on the computer screen. He had one of Eric's tee-shirts on, and the sleeves snuggly fit around his beefy biceps. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, both vampires could be easily mistaken for brothers in their human lives. And then there was that expression of wisdom, the impression of centuries-old knowledge that was peeking through his cool demeanor, reminding me of my bonded even more.

I wondered if the Viking was the tallest and Vlad the most muscled one out of the three friends, but showing my curiosity would hardly be anywhere near acceptable. I figured the memory of Constantine was as dear and painful to him as it was to Eric, even if the Russian hadn't had a blood string to their finally dead companion.

"Eric said you don't travel much," I said, as soon as Vlad shut down the laptop.

"That would be true."

"What is holding _you _back?"

"Work," he answered simply. "When I am surrounded by my team, and research is all I have on my mind, the outside world becomes irrelevant in many ways. Eric always tells me I need to leave my offices more often." He chuckled and shook his head, "Obviously, I did not prepare well for this trip."

"So you're the vampire scientist, then."

"Forgetful and detached from the trivial, you mean? Perhaps, when it comes to packing, but not fighting."

"I didn't think so," it was my turn to chuckle. "At least, it didn't look like it last night."

My words suddenly changed the atmosphere from socially pleasant to serious. There were tons of things I needed to ask, but I wasn't sure where to begin. Vlad kept silent, waiting.

I started with what worried me most. "About Faery. What exactly did Gòro hear?"

"Enough to reassure the Order you are as weak of a gaia as he reported originally."

That wasn't it; nevertheless, it was a relief, because I didn't want the glory of reopening Faery be all mine – thank you, but no thank you.

"However, since he's not proficient in Caelli, I would appreciate if you could fill in the gaps," Vlad added. In one long swig, he finished his blood and got up to rinse the bottle in the sink.

I chewed my food slowly, carving out a moment to gather my thoughts. I decided to treat the request more like an official inquiry, rather than a friendly interest.

"I channeled my gaia power through Niall once I restored his spark. Our combined magic opened the main pipeline, and then he unlocked the rest of the portals. That's all."

"Fascinating." Vlad returned to his seat and looked straight into my eyes. Clearly, my well-rehearsed version didn't satisfy him. "What else can you tell me? Did you feel anything unusual? Any changes or side effects?"

"Not really. Everything happened very fast." The sandwich was supposed to be good – slices of smoked pork and swiss cheese, layered with tomato and lettuce on top of crunchy ciabatta bread. Yet, I didn't taste a thing as I mechanically consumed the load of calories my body was desperate for. "All in all, what I did in Faery was a broad stoke. A wild guess under unique circumstances. I don't think I can ever repeat that with another supernatural or another world."

"I would not call it a wild guess, Sookie. I do believe this was a very unusual combination of various factors, but neither I, nor the Ancients underestimate your intelligence. I – because I know Norseman; they – because they know everything about everything and everyone. What you did is a result of your ability to think outside the box, and in this case it has proved to be more valuable and significant than your magic."

"You sound just like Eric." Now the food was literally getting stuck in my throat. I shouldn't be so nervous, I tried to convince myself. No one except me knew what had really happened at the Old Temples. Niall was the only witness, and he hadn't even registered how his spark had killed me.

Vlad kept scrutinizing me so intently I felt my cheeks burning. I couldn't pretend that hiding something important from Eric didn't bother me, but the last thing we needed was more distractions, and that's what my fleeting death was – a pointless distraction.

I made myself swallow and smile. Later. I'll tell him later. After we survive the takeover.

"I presume you have already deduced that Gòro may not hear past sealed portals," Vlad finally broke the tensed pause. "If a world is blocked, his telepathy is no use. Needless to say, he is overwhelmed and overjoyed to have Britlingen and Faery back on his mental chessboard. He is even more excited that the junction of the old passages is functioning again. He's been searching for signs of intelligent life – if there is any left – from the moment the segment of the ancient maze was restored."

"Do you know if the Britlingen or any others were affected by the isolation?"

"There were indications of disturbance, but the process was set in reverse once the gates were open. Gòro is certain it would have taken months for the mutation in magic to fully manifest and change the species."

"You think the same could have happened in our world?"

Vlad squinted and scratched his jaw. "Hypothetically speaking, worse and more rapidly. The Ancients believed the doom of all times was upon us. I was told so a few nights ago when Kha asked me to set the meeting with you and Eric. It was a direct warning, although I did not perceive it as such at the time. I do now."

"How can they be so sure?"

"The Ancients are so old they can sense the slightest fluctuations in dark magic everywhere in this world. They must have noticed the adverse reaction among our kind or even themselves after the shift. You warded off immediate and real danger. The Order expresses their gratitude for that."

If the Ancients' gratitude didn't translate into practical help, I couldn't care less about it. "I don't mean to come across as unappreciative, but they can entice or threaten me all they want – I can't give more than I already have. After I talk to Niall, I'm done."

"I agree. That is a legitimate concession on your behalf. Word of caution, though. If you put your finger into their month, they will snap the whole arm, no matter who or what you are."

"It doesn't sound as if you have it easy with the Order, either," I frowned. One of them was Vlad's maker. "Don't blood ties count?"

The Russian hesitated for a split second. "The Order is founded with blood, as you already know. What very few outside the Order know is that every decision they make has to be approved by all thirteen. They don't debate or vote. It is no democracy, and no majority rule applies. Even if one Ancient disagrees, he is able to sway the rest his way or block them entirely." Vlad suddenly covered my hand with his, and I froze. It didn't feel anything like Eric touching me. "What I am saying is that only blood ties count, Sookie. The Ancients are ruthless, but I learned to navigate, centuries ago. Those connected to me are and will be safe."

For a moment, I contemplated what he _didn't_ say – that he was ready to deliver on his promise to Eric.

I wasn't ready to accept.

Vlad took his hand back, not waiting for an answer. "For now, the Ancients are happy with what you did for the salvation of the fae realm," he continued calmly, as if we were discussing weather.

"I didn't go to Faery to make the magnificent thirteen happy," I said, still a bit unnerved by the unexpected turn in the conversation. "It was the right thing to do, and I'd like to think any decent human – well, any being – would do the same. I know _I _wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't at least try. But at some point – very soon – I'm going to have to say enough and worry only about my and Eric's future instead of others'."

"And how _did_ you know?" Vlad asked, softly.

A handshake. His touch had felt like a handshake. I let myself relax.

"For one, Kha wasn't too subtle. Reading the grail would benefit other races, not only vampires – how more transparent could he be? And there were other clues, too."

Vlad shifted on his seat, looking away. "His words made me wonder as well. The entire conversation, as a matter of fact, made me wonder. I came to the same conclusions as you did. Unfortunately, it was already sunrise, and there was no time to share them with Eric and you."

I pushed my empty plate aside. "Well, Eric has too much on his mind these days."

The Russian didn't respond. There was an elephant in the room, and we left it alone. Strangely, I found myself in agreement with Eric: this was our fight, and Vlad shouldn't be involved. He was already treading a fine line with his masters, supporting his friend – and me – even where his position contradicted the Ancients' wishes. And I wasn't going to take that lightly.

"You said the Ancients sense the dark magic everywhere. How do they do that?"

"They are in control of their darkness. Do you know what it means?"

"They can read the essence of other vampires?"

"Among other things. It enables the Order to monitor our kind in a way similar but not identical to Gòro's telepathy. They choose twelve locations on the Earth where vampire concentration is the highest, and observe from there with almost 100-percent coverage. The thirteenth Ancient travels constantly from one location to another, monitoring what is left out. Every so often, the Order reconvenes, selects new coordinates, and deploys again. In old times, they used to remain in the same place for a century or even longer. However, with the modern technology, and especially after the Great Reveal, the undead demography and population statistics changed drastically. I won't bore you with details…"

"Why not? I insist." So far, one evening with Vlad had been more enlightening than all my time with Bill, and I wanted to hear more. I pushed my troubles out of my mind and prepared to listen to a fairy… er, vampire tale.

"Human population steadily grew over the last few centuries. The outbreak of bubonic plague was a setback which was overcome rather quickly by vampire time standards. Men have been exponentially claiming territories, constantly logging forests, cultivating fields, mining, hunting, creating dams, drying lakes and swamps… Not to mention all the wars in the name of religion, gold, freedom, and the Saints know what else. Your kind is restless."

I didn't comment, instead gesturing for Vlad to continue.

"As a rule, vampires preferred hiding in uninhabited lands and only visited villages and settlements to feed and… well, whatnot. Human activities and expansion made it more challenging for us to find a secure resting place for a day. Keep in mind that these changes were occurring at a snail's pace for humans, whereas for a vampire the time it would take several generations of men to build a town would fly. Later on, with railroads, electricity, and other technological miracles, the living took more and more from the undead. Industrial revolution altered our reality. Hiding was the thing of the past; blending in with the society became the most valuable survival skill. In my opinion, moving closer to humans made our existence fuller, richer. We studied harder, we tried harder, we became smarter if not wiser, despite the greater risk of exposure."

"Which was an unavoidable drawback. But you also got to enjoy all the benefits of the progress."

"Point well made. More importantly, the need to preserve anonymity united our race unlike any other cause had before. In order to survive, we had to learn to cooperate with each other and compromise personal interests for the greater good. For the most part, we managed well."

"For the most part?"

"History is filled with examples of how one individual's carelessness jeopardized the safety of all. We are no exception."

Vlad was speaking with subtle excitement of a man who found a fresh and willing ear, and that excitement was as contagious as it was genuine, so much so, I couldn't help it.

"Let me guess," I leaned forward a notch. For a while now, I had an idea I never seemed to get around verifying with Eric or Pam. "Jack the Ripper."

Vlad nodded. "Unnecessarily killing women at night in a perverse fashion – yes, those were acts of a mad vampire."

"What happened to him?"

"No one knows. His maker was no more. He had no children. He was young – not even a decade dead. A number of reasons could have driven him to the point of losing his senses – bad blood, unsuccessful transformation, or loneliness, plain and simple. One of our own tracked and killed him."

I raised an eyebrow. Details were everything.

Vlad smiled, a very conspiratorial smile, "Does the name Eugène François Vidocq tell you anything?"

"The founder of the French criminal police, Sûreté," I answered, stunned. Vidocq's biography was the first book I'd read at the Glass house. "But I thought he died for real. He was turned?"

"He loved his work. An outstanding tracking talent combined with photographic memory and excellent intuition – he didn't want to perish."

"Did the Ancients intervene again?"

"No. This time, a human came to a vampire. Vidocq was a superb investigator. He believed the urban legends about bloodsuckers were true and set on a mission to find evidence when he was assigned a case of a human victim drained dry. But the more he learned about the creature with fangs the less he wanted to capture and kill it. One fine night he trapped his future maker and asked for undeath. He was very careful and prescient with his request and afterwards never regretted his decision, and neither did his maker."

"That's an incredible story," I sat back. "Is he still around catching the bad guys?"

"He is," Vlad folded his arms on the top of the counter. Although his hands were large and fingers seemingly clumsy, I had no difficulty imagining them manipulating a pincer, a lancer, a gun, or a sword. "After he staked the Ripper, he was introduced to the Order, and since then they use his services every once in a while. Vidocq has committed to donate his blood for the essence pool once I build the vault."

And that was the second elephant in the room. "Do you know how you're going to do that?" _Without my help reading the grail_, I almost added.

"I am not certain about the how, but it will be done. Too much has been invested into the project to leave it unfinished."

"I don't want to come across as know-it-all or anything. I'm sure you have tried the stasis spell?"

"Numerous times, and infinite variations of it. Centuries ago, the Ancients conducted several large-scale experiments in real world conditions. They had zero success. The most powerful and sophisticated stasis spells – on record – did not hold past few weeks."

"Why?"

"Recently we have discovered that there is a correlation between the magic of an object within the stasis field – or rather the strength of that magic – and the rate at which the stasis spell wanes. Simply put, the stronger the magic, the quicker the spell wears off."

I tried to wrap my head around this magical sci-talk. "How can a stasis spell wane? If I remember correctly, it only fails if someone or something enters the space the spell is cast on."

Vlad's eyes sparkled as he jumped on his obviously favorite topic. "Not when it comes to essence. Think of magic as a form of energy. Any kind of energy obeys certain rules and follows patterns which we may or may not always see, but they exist nevertheless. Take vampire blood – a carrier of darkness or dark energy. Place it in into a stasis field created by the stasis spell. This field is nothing but another type of energy that freezes objects – including the magic within those objects – in time. Now, compare which energy is stronger – the object's or the stasis field's. If it's the former, the stasis spell will fail."

"So, when you store all that blood in a single place, the spell is useless. What if you keep it in smaller containers? And use a stasis spell for each container?"

"Ah, blood division. The Order tried that, first with ziggurats in Mesopotamia and later with pyramids in Egypt. It didn't work. We want to preserve potent, old blood. It so happens that even the minimal quantity of such blood is always stronger than any stasis spell."

As Vlad was talking me through the condensed course of Physics of Magic, vampire bullshit, deaths, and everything else started to seem sort of insignificant and dull. I was beginning to see so many things in a different light it was jaw-dropping. No wonder the Russian enjoyed his research more than Eric's reality.

"Every test conducted by the Order failed, and unfortunately due to reasons not always limited to purely magical. Atlantida, for example, was the first grand experiment the Ancients undertook, but the island was lost during the initial stages before they would have a chance to discover the correlation…"

"Wait a second," I waved my hand in front of me. "_Atlantida? _As in Atlantis? The mythical island that sank under water in single day and night, like… thousands of years ago?"

"You know the mythology," Vlad looked impressed. "It was one of the darkest moments in the history of the Order."

"Bet it was. How many died?"

"It is not that simple, Sookie. Atlantians – the ruling class and priesthood – were aware of the project, but not of the long-term goals of the Order. It was imperative that human leaders were involved to a certain degree for the Order's plans to have any hopes of success to begin with. A great amount of vampire blood was donated and kept in the main temple on the island, and a stasis spell was cast. Atlantida was at war with Athens at the time. They wanted stronger soldiers in exchange for protecting the temple during the daytime. The Ancients agreed to spare some blood. It was a fair trade between the two parties. However, when the soldiers drank the blood, something went wrong. Most of them became insane. In one day, a handful of crazed men with weapon obliterated nearly everyone on the island and destroyed the temple along with the stored blood. Then they sailed ships to Athens, but the Ancients rose at nightfall and caught up with them in the open sea. And while those bodies were buried in the ocean, there was no other way but to sink the island to cover the traces of the mayhem."

He didn't need to explain how it was done: with the help of the now extinct race of storm raisers whose language morphed into Old Aramaic.

And to think I was ever surprised with Appius's arrogant recklessness with which he had turned the only surviving member of the last Russian royal dynasty! His deed seemed almost a prank next to the Ancients' atrocity. Although, in all honesty, I'd have to admit that human greed was no less contributing to Atlantis's ruin. Who in their right mind makes deals with vampires?!

"When our time with Eric and Constantine ended, I joined the Order in their quest," Vlad said. "My first step was to put a stop to the trial and error practice and to initiate consistent and planned clinical studies instead."

If this was an attempt to diffuse the impact of what he'd just told me, I gladly let him distract me, but not before I asked, "With lab rats, I hope?"

He laughed. "Sometimes. And no lab humans unless they volunteer. It's a joke, Sookie! With modern computer technologies, I hardly ever need a live subject."

I chased away an image of a Caveman in a cage and vampires in white lab coats and fangs out, standing around the cage and busily taking notes.

"How does it work with computers?"

"Smoothly," he laughed again, then continued more seriously. "We can simultaneously run multiple scenarios and track the progression in virtual environment without wasting precious essence, given we have enough reliable data to model after real life with very high accuracy."

"I would have never thought the blood bank was so important for the Order. And the sacrifices they made…" Reconciling the fact that Kha was capable of loving Sola for all eternity and at the same time had had part in destroying an entire island was giving me a headache.

"Creating the vault is only the beginning," Vlad noted. "There are other critical issues we need to resolve. Not bored with the details yet?"

"Shocked more like it, but no."

"Stop me when you've had enough. Let's suppose 99 percent of vampires meet their final death. The Ancients use the blood and recreate the race. But there will be no real makers. How will we teach the youngsters without the maker-child bonds? How will we feed them? How many vampires should we create? So on and so forth. And all those questions must be answered, or all the sacrifices, as you said, will be in vain."

"Vlad," I stood up, collecting my plates, "I hope you find the answers and no one else will have to die. Above all, I hope there will never be the need to use the pool of essence even if you do build the vault."

"That is my hope as well. Unfortunately, after the Great Reveal vampires face another enemy the name of which is comfortable existence."

I squeezed a few drops of dish soap on the washing sponge and started the water in the sink. "What's wrong with that? Haven't you or Eric or even the Ancients lived long enough without indoor plumbing?"

"Showers and baths are not the evils the modern society and mainstreaming have brought upon our kind. I am speaking of the softening – corrupting – effect of existence without constant struggle to survive, kill or be killed."

"We both know that mainstreaming isn't exactly the way of life. More often than not it's just a smoke screen. Vampires will never give up drinking real blood or hunting."

"That is where you are mistaken, at least in part. When so much is given to us – citizenship, official rights to handle our finances, own properties, even obtain donor blood – young ones tend to forget what comes easy goes easy. Ask a two-year-dead vampire to find a good resting place or dig a hole to spend the day in, and he'll most likely fail. That is a road to degradation of species. If makers and sires do not remain vigilant training their children, the doom of all times will eventually occur _without _isolation."

Maybe, that's where the Order should step in and stop squabbles between this kingdom and that. Every time there was a war, a succession of power, more vampires – old vampires – died. Wasn't that a loss of darkness, and one that could be prevented? The Ancients had all the magic they needed to preserve their race in ways that didn't require a blood bank.

I held my observation to myself. I felt I'd have enough of the Order for one night.

"Speaking of comfort," I said, quickly washing the salad bowl and setting it on the drying rack. "I haven't thanked you for taking care of the mess after the last night." Half of the first floor had been wrecked when Eric and Gòro fought. The damage (although not on my to-fix list) had been almost as bad as it was after Eric had crushed the pool table into the wall; plus, some of the glass had been shattered, including most of the frosted glass cabinet doors in the kitchen. "What did you do? Waved a magic wand?"

"That was my Natasha. She is a poltern."

"A house spirit? I thought they were all hiding or extinct." I'd read about polterns in Eric's diary – spirits that command four elements to maintain order and cleanness. Well, I should have taken _that _literally.

"They are very loyal. Once a poltern enters a home and accepts its master, it attaches for good. They are not only invisible; they can never be captured and used against their chosen ones. That is why they are so sought after. My Natasha travels with me, although I can never really tell unless she is working."

My shields were lowered, but I carefully scanned the house again. Nothing. "I can't hear her."

"Maybe, because polterns have no physical body."

"She did a hell of a job for someone who has no hands."

"Natasha is invaluable for me – a scatterbrain scientist," Vlad replied with a broad grin. He came to stand next to me. "May I?"

He took the plate I was rinsing out of my hands and, making sure I was following his every move, dropped it under our feet. With a loud clank, the white porcelain broke into hundreds bits and pieces. Before I'd utter a word, he whispered something in Russian, and right in front of my eyes, the shards began slowly coming together in the point where the plate met the tile. Speechless, I watched the plate being formed again as if a movie was rolling backwards. A few seconds later, it was whole. Even the droplets of water were glistening on it.

"This is how," Vlad picked up the plate and returned it into the sink. "Polterns are very good at repairing things, especially those that are made of natural materials and are of simple structure."

"Wow." I blew out a breath. "Well, thank you both. This was very… educational, to say the least."

"You are welcome."

We politely smiled at each other.

"And thank you, too," Vlad said, quietly, "for listening to my rants, and for Eric. I have never seen him being so generous with his blood. He is at peace, at last."

I think I blushed. Generous wasn't even cutting it. "Goes both ways."

Vlad's cell phone went off, interrupting the awkward pause.

"Excuse me, I have to answer this."

He left with vampire speed as I kept rinsing the revived plate, my mind elsewhere.


	25. Ch 15: Dead Ends and New Doors Part 1

**Ch 15: Dead Ends and New Doors ****Part 1**  


Traveling by Nele-Diel

**SPOV**

**Thursday Afternoon, The Week of the Coronation**

"Please, stop fidgeting. I can't concentrate."

Gòro grumbled and sort of sat on his tail coiled up in small rings. "Gaia, make it quick."

"Why, does your posterior posture suffer?"

He blew out a small cloud of smoke through the nostrils. Whoops.

I closed my eyes and pretended I was alone in the Glass house. No, actually I was outside by the pool, soaking up the sun. Or reading in the library. Or napping in bed with my husband. Anywhere but here, in the living room a.k.a. parley ground, behind the darkened glass, calling my great grandfather.

Half-an-hour later, I was wishing even more that I was somewhere else. As I'd predicted, Niall had agreed to let a group of supes through – under a tight watch, of course. The shared security of Faery, though, was the brick wall all three of us had been slamming into over and over. Niall would not budge.

The fact I had a real genie in my house had impressed upon Great Grandfather more than learning the Old Temples used to be a special junction of passageways. By his own admission, there was something different in the quality of the ancient spirit that was now flowing into Faery. It was more potent and vibrant.

He hadn't mentioned that it was making him feel as if he was going to be more powerful than he had been before the isolation, but his hopeful thought pounded in my head loud and clear.

Well, this was good news for Niall. Bad for our negotiations.

Having kindly accepted a glass of mint iced tea, he was seated on the sofa across from me, exactly where Kha was sitting the night before, with identical impermeable expression on his face. Albeit he was masking his contempt very well, I was reading it in every word passing his mind and every emotion coloring his mood. Niall simply couldn't help the centuries-old animosity against fanged bloodsuckers, the same way I couldn't bring myself to fully opening my cards to him. Including my gaia card.

But now the tiptoeing was over.

"I have spelled every crack that leads in and out of Faery," Niall said after I'd made yet another not entirely (or rather entirely not) convincing argument to let the Ancient Order participate in guarding the Old Temples. "That is enough."

Screw diplomacy. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Like you were sure you'd be able to reopen portals after you shut them all down?"

The fairy's face fell a little, and I sensed a wave of gloating from the genie.

"I know how magical you are," I went on, "but what's out there could be more than all fairies combined can handle."

"The protection of fae realm is _fae_ responsibility, not that of the dead," Niall answered, remaining cool, but his last remark rubbed the genie the wrong way, which was the point. Unsettle your opponent, make him slip, and you'll gain the upper hand.

"_Undead_," Gòro rumbled, correcting him. His scales turned amber, and the tail smacked the floor once. He was displeased, if such a mild word could be applied to a heat-emitting ferocious beast.

A bead of sweat rolled down my back. I glared at the live torch next to me and turned back to Niall. "It's not just about the responsibility. They're entitled to ensure their own safety."

"They can ensure their safety by staying in their own world. I already promised not the block Faery. The isolation was an unfortunate accident. It will never happen again."

"Your guarantee will not suffice," the genie drifted closer to Niall. "The malice is deep in your nature. In your people's hearts. You will heal soon. You will want more power. More lands. More of everything. You will start a war. Cross over. Slay vampires during the day. Kill those who shall not cave."

With each punctuated sentence he kept inflating, and I silently groaned, direly missing the fire extinguisher. Maybe, Vlad was right, and inviting a volatile mini-volcano to talk to the Great Prince was a bad idea.

"Intimidation. A tactic that yields no results." Niall stood up, pretending to be angrier than he really was. His shoulders were squared and his chin slightly tilted up. "I do not expect your trust or that of your _undead _allies, but accusing me of intent of war is an insult and only proves there is nothing further to be discussed."

He was about to teleport, and I couldn't let that happen.

"No one's accusing you of anything, Great Grandfather. Gòro is merely telling you how your blunt refusal will be perceived. I do believe fairies will not want to start a war again. I also know there are forces beyond our control – your control – that may use you and leave you no choice but to go against your wishes and common sense and attack nevertheless. You're worried the vampires are the aggressors. What if those out there really are?"

Niall heard me out, frowned, then shook his head. "You are sincere, my child. Forgive me, though, for I am still skeptical." _hisbloodinyou…_

"Just because I'm bonded to a vampire, doesn't mean I'm against you," I noted. I could stay calm, too, although on the inside I was beginning to fume.

"You made it abundantly clear you would always pick his side, is that not so?" Niall returned.

"And you said Faery was also my home."

"Then you should have no difficulty understanding that between vampires usurping _our _world and a remote prospects of an undetermined threat, I choose the lesser evil."

And that's what they call a dead end, despite my every effort not to let our personal relationship, or lack thereof, affect Niall's decision.

But perhaps, I was wrong from the get go, and it was impossible to separate personal from professional anymore, because at some point it all becomes personal. Niall's antagonism ran no deeper than his love for me, yet he was worried his sentiments would blindside him and lead him down the path of failing his people again. That possibility was genuinely frightening him, and not without merit.

"Fine," I said. "Fine. I get it." And I did. "Before you leave, there's something I want you to see."

He stayed on his feet, a busy man who had much to attend to and very little time to do so.

I looked at Gòro. "I need the grail."

Crimson surprise splashed over the genie as his third eye opened. I suddenly realized not once had he referred to me as a gaia in front of Niall. "Please," I said. "Trust me."

An armor of flames engulfed him, and I hurriedly stepped back, away from the wave of heat he breathed out. His chest burst open with fire, and a hole opened up. There was blackness inside, and it took me a few seconds to see that the blackness was none other than the cube containing the grail. The cube floated out of the fiery cavity, and the genie's chest closed again as if nothing happened.

"You must use your powers to unlock it," said Gòro, "for mine are of a different kind."

I nodded. Like Eric said, I was true gaia. And what did gaia do? Opened all kinds of doors.

I held my hand a few inches above the cube and imagined my warmth flowing into it. A symbol of infinity with a drop in one loop and a crescent in the other gleamed on the hot plane, and the lid separated and floated up in the air.

The genie stared with all three at the sphere nestled inside the box. The attraction the artefact held for him was the same blinding urge to possess that had taken over and driven him to fight Eric for the tear of a dragon. Energy. It was all about energy.

But Gòro wasn't the only one staring. Mesmerized, Niall came to stand by my side, unable to tear his eyes away from the grail.

"What is this?" he asked in a dreamy voice.

"It's a shard of great magic," I answered. I carefully took it out of the box and held it in my cupped palms. A wave of soft voices washed over me. The grail had recognized me and let me it. "It once belonged to Green Fairies. Touch it."

His fingers didn't tremble as he spread them over the cold polished surface. But he was full of awe, and old, dusty memories began meandering into his consciousness through the layers of images and resonating echoes his mind had accumulated throughout his existence.

"You, too," I glanced at the genie, and he wrapped the rope-like end of his tail around the grail, adoringly, as if it was the most sacred thing in the world.

I could swear that somehow the dark ball had grown larger and a bit heavier in my hold, accommodating all the extremities touching it.

I lightened it up as I asked it to show me the doom of all times, and the ancient relic responded, purging a massive stream of pictures, impressions, and messages that flooded my mind and assaulted my senses. When I overcame the initial shock, I started recounting the tale, at the same time channeling everything I was receiving into the genie and the fairy right through the grail, to the best of my abilities.

The origins. Force. Equilibrium. Free will. Envy. Greed. Hatred. Treachery. Hunger for power. Condescension. Fear. Balance disturbed. Magic dying. Connections failing. Portals closing. The rise of the vampires. Persecutions. False prophets. The demise of the dragons. The faith of the gatekeepers. Executions. Hunt. Kill. The formation of the Ancient Order. Oblivion. Indifference. Ignorance. A chance to turn things around.

And the danger of repeating the cycle that only resulted in death. Final death.

When the sphere had gone dark again, the three of us stood there in silence; Niall absorbing and astonished, Gòro stunned and gratified, and me sweating and thirsty.

I could finally explain what the grail really was: a dead object that had been given a form of primitive life dependent on magic. It had the ability to record, store, and telepathically communicate information – history as it unraveled around it. It was self-learning and able to recognize those who could activate it. Vlad would probably say it was a supernatural computer with artificial intelligence fueled by the oldest of energies: Magic itself.

"You are a gatekeeper," Niall whispered, and immediately his memories shifted to our last encounter and me hugging him and curing his spark.

"Yes, a very small part of me is," I admitted. It was enough to divert Niall's thoughts which could inadvertently expose my secret to the other telepath screening the fairy's mind. "So you see it's not just the safety of fae and vampires I'm concerned with. Gaia have been hunted down for thousands of centuries or even longer." I was still getting confused with the actual timeline since the origins. How evolution, Darwin, and Einstein came into all this I was yet to figure out. "Innocent lives could be at stake. I don't want the dark ages to happen all over again."

I moved the grail from under Niall's grasp, and he let go. I returned the magic ball into the box and replaced the lid. The hair-thin gap between the top and the bottom disappeared, making the cube one solid piece again.

"I'm only asking that for once you see beyond the fangs," I said to Niall as I handed the cube to the genie. "There's always a solution. Britlingen or Fahrros can be the sentinels of the Old Temples. They are already in your service. The Order can take part and subsidize them, too."

Niall pondered for a minute. "I will meet your masters soon," he finally told Gòro. "We shall discuss the alliance face to face."

"Yes, Prince," the genie put out the flames and shrank to his less intimidating form.

"I must return," Great Grandfather gave me a small, slightly sad smile. As much as he wanted me to smile back at him, I just didn't have it in me. I'd spent the morning, trying real hard to muster some sort of positive emotion for him. Unfortunately, I'd come up with nothing. I was empty.

I wasn't resentful anymore, either. Maybe, the slate was clean at last?

"This is the second time you open my eyes on something I would never believe to be true otherwise," he took my hand and squeezed. "I will not forget that, child."

Gòro wouldn't leave before Niall did. He had given his word to Eric to stay with me and make sure 'that fucking fairy keeps his hands off my bonded.'

"I couldn't have done it without you," I turned to the genie once Niall dematerialized.

Gòro was still cradling the black cube in his clawed hands. "You did extraordinary well, gaia." His tongue darted out in front of my face and a tiny flame flickered on the double tip. I gulped, but didn't wince. "I might teach you how to camouflage, after all," and he winked at me with his third eye.

"Okay," I mumbled.

He whirled around and jumped into the fire I'd had on in the fireplace especially for him. As soon as he disappeared, I turned it off, grabbed Niall's minty drink and downed it in one long gulp.

I found the remote control and set the glass panes on the first floor back to transparent. The sunlight flooded the space, chasing away the last of the shadows and doubts. Mission accomplished. Whatever happened after this was out of my hands.

I went outside to talk to Valerie. On Mr. Northman's orders, she had been staying close without disturbing my privacy. Now, she was sniffing me very carefully so that I wouldn't notice, trying to determine if the lingering scent of a fairy was Dermot's or…

"We're going to Bon Temps," I said. "Want to stop by Merlotte's and grab a bite afterwards?"

My bodyguard perked up. "Sure."

Downstairs, I shook off my clothes and took a quick shower. I didn't waste any time putting on makeup. I arranged my hair in a simple knot and pinned it with a long metal clip. I picked a new silk blouse and pulled on my favorite Diesel jeans.

In the bedroom, I turned the screens on and browsed through the scene and audio selection. I found the night forest and started the loop. I kissed Ericon the lips, "Sleep tight, my lover."

I popped in the kitchen. My bag with the gun was on the counter, and I threw the remote control and my cell phone into it. Valerie was in her room, apparently freshening up after spending an hour in the Louisiana infamous heat. While waiting for her to come down, I poured myself another glass of mint iced tea (mint was a pretty nice substitute for the traditional lemon flavor.) I wondered how Dermot was doing in Faery; I should see him before the Vegas trip.

The work at the farmhouse was in full swing. Mr. Price wasn't there, and one of his men called him to tell him I was checking how things were moving along.

"He'll be here all day tomorrow," the man told me, "and he said you can stop by after midnight for a final walk-through."

"You'll be all done by then?"

"That's the plan, m'am."

Val and I maneuvered through the power tools, paint trays, and ladders as I made my way through the first floor. The contractor had suggested we preserve the original hardwood in the bedrooms and the living room. After a few rounds of sandpapering and polishing, the simple parquet looked better than ever, waiting for final varnishing coats. The bathroom adjacent to the guest bedroom was sparkling with white tiles and chrome accessories. The kitchen seemed to be untouched for the most part, but upon closer inspection I found every cabinet door sanded, polished and covered with a fresh coat of varnish, handles changed, and appliances replaced with brand new ones.

Good-bye, gas stove and small fridge. Hello, electrical cooktop and energy efficient Northland.

Yet, somehow the changes didn't affect the atmosphere of familiarity and comfort I'd always experienced in this particular part of the house. I was seeing yet another reason why Mr. Price was held in such high esteem by his clients: it was not only the quality of the work he delivered, but also his talent to get a feel of the house and enhance it.

The second floor was a bit more chaotic. The large bathroom of shades of blue from cerulean to sky, alternated with warm yellow accents, was almost finished, and the walls of my new bedroom and a new dressing room were being covered with wallpaper. Violets bloomed and roses budded on the butterscotch stripe-patterned background – a tribute to my grandmother's love for these particular flowers. For some, it might appear corny, but for me it was perfect.

"We'll be installing the shelving in the walk-in tonight," one of the workers said when I peeked into the dressing room.

The plumbing, central heating and AC, and electrical wiring had already been upgraded – something not visible, but very important, because it was all part of the new overall security system in the house.

The greatest transformation, however, was on the outside. The porch, the space in the back of the house, the railings – everything was replaced with new woodwork, except for the old swings I'd specifically asked to keep as is. It had been stripped of old chipped paint, sanded, and re-painted in a gentle baby-green paint matching the rest of the exterior. The bright white of the window frames, the tops of the railings and a few other details organically mixed with the overall color theme.

And of course, a large double carport had been built on the right off the extended driveway. The roof shingles were laid in the same patter as that of the house. The two side walls were tempered tinted glass with metal bars, and there was a built-in cabinetry on the inner wall. I could definitely use the space for some of the knick knacks I used to keep in the old tool shed which was no more, replaced by a simple structure with a special section for firewood.

To say I was a happy camper was to say nothing. Million things on my mind, I slowly walked into the woods behind the house, leaving the noise and clamor of the tools, hands, and brains behind. Valerie trailed after, almost at my heels, managing to stay silent, invisible, and on alert.

I wandered through the woods of my childhood to the meadow where I'd first met Raven. It had been a nasty fight between her and Preston that day. All he'd wanted, thought, was to go home. The portal should be functioning by now, and I decided to find it, although I had no idea what exactly I was looking for. Teleportation is an instantaneous act; I'd never crossed over the conventional way – by actually going through a gate. I was increasingly curious to see what all the fuss was about.

I reached the edge of the forest and stopped in my tracks the moment I saw _it_.

A tree had somehow appeared in the small clearing. Tall, with thick trunk and massive branches, it stood there as if it had been growing its roots into the ground for decades, rightfully claiming a place under the sun in the human world. The dome of delicate red crescents crowned the tree with a splendid lush, and the sun rays penetrated the unusual foliage, bringing out the rich undertones of orange and gold.

I had a real Dahll in my back yard.

"Sookie, you okay?" Val came up behind me. The mental Whoa! made me react.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Did you see this tree here last weekend?"

"No," she stepped out into the meadow, "It wasn't here. What is it?"

"It's called Dahll."

_Notfromhere…_

"No," I said. "It's not." But it belonged here, nevertheless.

The Dahll's dark crust was coarse to my touch as I wrapped my arms around the trunk and pressed my check against the tree. It hummed with strength and force, communicating to me on a deep, deep level, making me tingle under my skin nearly imperceptibly, like a fairy call. And it came to me that in a way it was – a call of my ancestors, as if their souls, their very energy had been absorbed by the tree in an endless cycle of magic, life, and undeath I was an integral part of.


	26. Ch 15: Dead Ends and New Doors Part 2

_A**/**N 03/23/2013 I am happy to report that I am back working on DTRT as of this weekend. I have reviewed the last three chapters and am currently revising Ch 17 draft. Switching to EPOV early on, as I find myself stuck with SPOV. It's about to turn bloody... Meanwhile, here's CH 15 P2, to refresh your memories._

**Ch 15: Dead Ends and New Doors ****Part 2**  


**EPOV**

I rise to the soothing sounds of nocturnal nature and my wife's even breathing. Dressed, she has fallen asleep on top of the bed covers on her side. She is not wearing the Sunset; however, the star-sapphire ring on her index finger and the elegant diamond studs in her ears make the subtle statement of prosperity and stability. Her heavenly sent is tainted with smells of strangers – humans and two-natured, Raven's being the most prominent. Some of them I recognize from two nights before as those of Price's people. Others cling to Sookie's clothes and hair with obscene tenaciousness of the past that will not let go: stale bear, burnt oil, overcooked food, and the shifter.

She has been in Bon Temps and visited the diner.

I search within myself to objectively assess my feelings on the subject, and not without amazement I realize I do not mind and am rather appreciative that she keeps her daylife occupied and diverse, that the Glass house is not the only place she spends her time at, and that there are other connections and ties – a network unrelated to vampires – she may come to rely upon some night.

I wake her in my favorite fashion, and she tells me about the conversation with Niall and how she used the treasure of the Green Fairies to convince him the history of the worlds has been a slowing spiral downwards for a reason.

"I think I had him the moment he believed vampires and fairies and all other supers essentially came from the same source," she says, sitting up and fluffing the pillow to put behind her back. "The real shock was to learn all those prophesies were just an elaborate scam to goad races against one another. His ego was kind of bruised," she chuckles. "But he agreed to a face-to-face with the Order, so it's all up to them now."

Sookie seems undisturbed at the mentioning of her kin, and the high bond is unruffled. It appears meeting with Niall was less of a personal challenge for her than I expected. She handled him, as well as the genie, with savvy and, when the occasion called for it, with brusque truthfulness.

The successful conclusion of Sookie's task also means we can put the matters of the Acient Order behind us, at least for now, and that Vlad will most likely leave us tonight.

"I actually like having him around," Sookie says. "And the way you two talk to each other… I never see you that relaxed with anyone, not even Pam."

"Does this mean you have made your decision?"

She sighs, averting her eyes. "I'm not sure, Eric. I know you prefer him as my guardian, but it's the idea of you no more…" she stops, unsettled, "I just wish there wasn't the need for him to promise to look after me."

"So do I, lover. So do I."

For a minute each one of us is immersed into private thoughts. Sookie's comment is true: I never let my guard down with anyone as much as I do with Vlad. I will miss my brother.

"Try to rest after he's gone," I say, "And upon my return, we shall continue with your training."

"If you have time, that'll be great."

"I will always make time, Sookie," I stress. "For you, for us. A lot may change, but not this."

"I know," she smiles softly. "Tomorrow the Bon Temps house should be done. I'd like you to come with me for the inspection. Need your super eye for all the vampire upgrades."

"Why wait?" I unbutton her blouse and she removes it, shaking it off her shoulders. "I'd like to cum with you now." I push the cup of her bra down and begin kissing the sweet swell of her breast down to the areola. She quickly unhooks the bra, but before I get to savor the nipple, Sookie gently pushes me away and slides off the bed. She turns with her back to me and slowly lowers her jeans along with the panties, baring the perfect curves of her tanned ass, as she bends forward a little and exposes the pink flesh at the apex of her legs for a short moment – a moment full of aching desire to claim her. She peeks at me, "Like what you see?"

My fangs drop as I flash a hungry smile at her.

"You'll have to catch me first," and she appears some feet away in the bathroom doorway. I lunge for her, but she slips through my fingers, this time popping by the shower. This chase is extremely exciting, and I pause briefly to let her appreciate how stimulating our game is for me. Smiling seductively, she looks down at my hard cock and starts teasing her taught nipples with her fingers, rolling and pulling on them. "Come on, Eric. Am I supposed to do all the work here?"

"You know I love watching you," I reply and take a small step closer.

A flutter in the bond gives away her intention to teleport again, and I counteract it with all the passion and lust I have for her. She gasps, losing concentration for a split second, and I move at my top speed and lock her in my cool embrace.

"Gotcha!"

"That was a low blow," she laughs and pulls me in for a searing kiss. I respond roughly, my fangs nicking her moist lips. I press her against the wall, and she hitches her leg up, grinding against my groin. I take her hard, all the way to the hilt, and she is so ready for me, tight, creamy, eager for more… It is an indescribable satisfaction to replace the strange and unwelcome smells with mine as I fuck her with sharp, quick thrusts, holding her under her thigh with one hand and bracing myself against the wall with the other. She moans loudly, her arms circled around my neck, her tongue and lips pressed into my skin. I sense her orgasm nearing and grab her ass with both hands, impaling her even deeper, and she bites my shoulder, drawing blood and making me growl as we cum together.

In the shower, we wash each other thoroughly everywhere, and I obligingly spread my legs, enjoying her caring touch, and the touch becomes a demanding caress rather fast. The unspoiled aroma of her and of our mixed fluids inside her goes to my head, and I need her again. I fuck her from behind, my finger on her swollen clit, eliciting a wave after wave of hot pleasure her luscious body shudders with. It is an even greater blessing to melt in the bond with her, having no boundaries between us, feeling warmed, loved deeply by the person I care for above any other, above all, above myself.

She is like a drug to me. The more I have, the more I want.

I kiss her mouth when she tells she loves me.

"I begin to really like that you wake an hour before the sundown," she smiles at me as I carry her to the bedroom. "The one hour you're completely mine and I can do to you whatever I please."

"I always am, and you always can," I reply, arranging us on our bed.

"You know what I mean," she wraps a strand of my hair around her finger, then unwinds it. "I love this house. I love living with you in this house. Let's not sell it."

"Why would we sell it?" I ask puzzled.

She slightly shrugs, not looking at me, and continues playing with my hair. "Just something I've been thinking about," she finally murmurs with great reluctance. "If everything goes as planned, we'll have to move."

I believe I understand where this _thinking _stems from: her conversation with Vlad. Perhaps, it is my fault I have never made it clear to Sookie that the Glass house is the only permanent residence I intend to retain. "We do not have to do anything that is unsuitable for _us_," I say. "And having you amidst sea of minds day and night is not only unsuitable; it is unacceptable."

"What, then?" she gazes up at me intently, "Are you going to run the kingdom from suburbs of Shreveport? From the back offices at Fangtasia?"

I have given some consideration to this issue after my discussion with Vlad. There are a number of possibilities, but whichever one I choose Sookie's wellbeing will always be my highest priority. "I am not saying you will never spend a day or two at the New Orleans palace, but it will not be so often as to strain or harm you and certainly not for long. Trust me."

"I do," she assures me, although hesitant about how such arrangement will work, and adds: "I'm all for it, so long as it doesn't go against your reputation of ruthless and all that jazz."

If by all that jazz she implies a merciless thousand-year-dead vampire who does not give a fuck about anyone but himself and his, then no. "The only thing that will ruin my reputation is having my wife in need of an immediate attention and not seeing to that need being fulfilled right away."

"Yeah," she sneaks her hand between us, finding me erect, "Especially with gracious plenty means to do so. I'd say you'd be ruined."

We make love until the dark falls, all too soon.

"Do you want me in the meeting?" Sookie asks as we put ourselves to rights, preparing for the rest of the night.

"No. The outsiders have no business knowing of your involvement."

She has already telephoned Captain Clayton – the pilot who flew us to Miami on our first date. "He had to change a few things in his schedule to book my first flying lesson for Monday."

"Monday, it is." After the coronation Madden's vultures will rush to Little Rock, and that will change the headcount from before the weekend. Ideally, the latest intelligence data is always preferable; however, having Sookie scan the compound later than that would be too close to the attack timeline.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Sookie makes herself a cup of tea, as we wait for my brother to join us. I check my voice messages and scroll through texts; nothing urgent.

"By the way, Vlad's poltern, Natasha, is incredible," she says. "I still can't believe she fixed in several hours what took a dozen men two days and nights to repair."

"If you'd like, we'll summon one for the Glass house," I suggest.

"I'd love that," she replies with excitement. "I can't hear'em."

"So I've been told."

"Oh, really? What else you two have been gossiping about?"

"We do not gossip. We confer," Vlad announces with over exaggerated seriousness, appearing by my side.

Sookie heats up a bottle of blood for him as he gives us the latest account: the Ancient Order is very pleased with Sookie's effective work, and he has been called back to assist his maker with the next phase of the negotiations.

"If you're looking for a neutral place for a meeting, my land in Bon Temps is available," Sookie offers, quite casually. "Niall will not refuse it. Unless the Order…"

"No, no, that is very generous of you. Any help we can get with your kin is appreciated."

"Let's just say we all have vested interest in this business to be wrapped up as quickly and quietly as possible," she says. "What about the expedition to the Lost Lands? It seems to be right up your alley."

Vlad takes a sip of Blue Blood, approvingly nodding as he swallows, "I won't be going with the Discovery team. I will be in charge of putting it together and setting up headquarters to direct and observe the mission from here. Gòro is coming on board as the leading hometracker. And I am considering adding a witch to the team."

"Leading hometracker? So you're going to send live people, too, not just vampires?" Sookie inquires with interest and concern.

"Probably shifters or Weres. Gòro's telepathy is the most reliable tracking method we have."

Vlad does not elaborate that breathers will not only serve as live transmitters; they will also provide sustenance to the undead members of the team, and watch over them if or when they rest for the day. Vampires, on the other hand, will contribute their super-strength, hyper-senses, speedy reactions, special talents, and most importantly knowledge and experience in dealing with species of great variety and nature. I do not doubt that only old and very powerful of my kind will be included in the exploring mission, just as I do not doubt Vlad will ensure the safety and ethical conduct of every member on the team. According to his code, research, work, and strict procedure override any personal, primal, and instinctual behavior that may derail his projects. Only those willing to conform, take the risks, and give blood will be included.

"Even so, Goro's skill is only a one-way communication," I note. "But you would not be the genius I know you for if you have not thought of thousands ways around that."

"Precisely. I already have one of my children looking into other options. These are the instances where fusing technology and magic pays off the most."

"Or you can have another telepath go with the team," Sookie says, and Vlad and I both fix our eyes on her; Vlad with surprise, me with worried confusion. "I don't mean myself," she clarifies, "but like you said, there are others the Order has been observing, right?"

"Yes."

"I had a chance to communicate with another telepath – Barry the bell-boy from Rhodes, Stan's Barry?" she glances at me. "We were able to talk to each other. If you know another strong mindreader…"

"I do, actually," Vlad says, thoughtfully. He thanks her for the excellent idea, adding he will be testing it with Gòro as soon as he is back at his laboratories.

Vlad has another hour before his transport arrives; however, I do not have the luxury of waiting with him, and I bid my good-bye, leaving him in Sookie's care.

"Be well, brother."

"You, too, Norseman."

My first call is to Jonathan Cramer. He is already at the Dexter house, keeping watch. I instruct him to let everyone in, no one out, and confiscate cell phones, or any other devices he finds on the newcomers. Pam gets hold of me the soon I disconnect with Cramer: she is opening the club, and Maxwell and Thalia will take the floor duty and cover for us from ten p.m. to closing in case if we tarry. She also reminds me of the routine staff meeting I hold on Thursdays.

It is the coronation weekend, and I will be out of town with my second-in-command; I must put someone in charge (Maxwell Lee is my primary choice) while I am away and warn, or even scare, the rest not to complicate his additional responsibilities. "The meeting will take place as usual," I say. "Let them have no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary."

Although it is a fang-night at Fangtasia, the overwhelming majority of the customers are the new crowd. There are some fang-curious breathers who attempt to chat up Pam and Hilda at the bar, and one of them, young, timid, and underdressed, approaches me for a snapshot. I refuse, but give her an autograph on a Fangtasia napkin, and _tell _her to be curious about something other than fangs.

Young and timid, they do not last very long.

I do not linger on the main floor. I motion to Ridley to follow me to my office and tell him to start working on the weekly report for the New Orleans royal offices. Pam has already combed through my correspondence, and I have replied to important e-mails from my Droid. I sit the youngster at my desk and show him the recent files with the figures from the local businesses. "We leave in an hour. Be done by then."

I summon Garry. My day man is to charter an Anubis private plane for me and mine only. De Castro's offices originally arranged to have vampires from Areas Five, Three, and Two travel together Friday night, arrive early Saturday morning, and spend the day at Hacienda, which is a security issue and a waste of my time. I rather pay double rates for air fare than slumber my day away in my enemy's territory and let Sookie listen to thousands obnoxious minds a second longer than absolutely necessary.

"We shall board Saturday and be in Las Vegas by the sundown," I tell Garry. "No need to advise the hotel on the late check-in. Also, book the return flight for Monday morning an hour before sunrise."

Ridley steals a quick glance at me.

Ah, of course, how can I forget my fucking shadow. "Add Mr. Ridley to the passenger list. He'll give you his information."

I work from Garry's laptop until Jonathan texts me that everyone is in, ready for me. We take Pam's car, leaving unnoticed. As we approach the Dexter house, my child tells Ridley to keep his mouth shut and not to interrupt me again in front of my underlings, under any circumstances. He accepts the scolding without a hint of rancor.

As I enter the house, annealed tension greets me. Men and women of mature essence, experienced in battles, stealth, and deceit, they are seated and standing in groups of three, representing Indiana, Iowa, and Kentucky, and four from Mississippi. My crew has taken strategic positions at all exit points. I look round the room, meeting eyes and probing dark magic. Beneath it all, there is a layer of subversion – concealed inner structures with backward flow – in the fields of the outsiders.

I send O'Brian to secure the perimeter and let me know if anything unusual appears within vampire earshot.

"I am Eric Northman, Sheriff of Area Five of Louisiana," I begin. "This is Pamela Ravenscroft, my second-in-command. State your names and allegiances."

The vampires promptly and distinctly present themselves. Their faces, names, and scents are now in Pam's vault.

"You are here on your monarchs' orders because you are great fighters and masters of disguise." Intense and composed, no one shifts or changes their expressions. "On Tuesday night, there will be a massive attack on Victor Madden's crew in Little Rock, Arkansas. It will be done in two phases. Phase one: team beta – all the present with the exception of my immediate crew – is to penetrate Arkansas Areas within the next two nights, act as decoys and divert the locals' attention until the signal is given to strike with team alpha – phase two."

I proceed with details. The decoys will cross into Arkansas openly and request permission from the authorities to either pass or stay for a few nights. The pretense is that they are looking to relocate, unhappy with their current situation; a few of them will pretend to be nomads in search of new alliances. With the influx of fresh blood into Arkansas secretly pledging their loyalties to Madden (as Eve reported to me a few weeks ago), the arrival of few more vampires will not seem suspicious.

Pam distributes the dossiers on Madden's men, as I continue: "Do not shy away from the locals, especially these – Madden's known associates. There are others, and I do not need to warn you to be extremely careful with what you say or inquire about. Use your best judgment in establishing connections. Blend in. It is possible you will be offered to share a nest for a day or two, according to our customs. Accept. On Tuesday night, approximately an hour after the sunset, Madden's people will gather in a central location outside Little Rock. They will be ordered to bring along new prospects – you. This," I point at the enlarged blue-print of the compound Holm has pinned onto the wall behind me, "is the tentative schematics to give you an idea what to expect when you arrive on premises. The grounds will be heavily guarded, so choose your weapon wisely."

I let the vampires absorb the information, then go on: "Phase two. Team alpha – me and mine included – will lead the open assault. Team beta will engage simultaneously from the inside. We'll close on the enemy from both flanks and have the effect of surprise as an advantage. Take no prisoners. Now, communications. Your personal phones will be returned to you upon completion of the operation. Instead, you will be given untraceable mobiles with two preprogrammed numbers: Pam's and Lumet's. If you need to send a message, go through them. Do not contact anyone else – it's an order. Our success depends largely on your discretion. If you fail, we all fail, including your kings and queens. Questions."

The tactical meeting lasts for two hours. We cover various topics, including the matter of human casualties. My position is very simple: no killings unless there is an imminent danger to my people's undeath or a threat of exposure. Witness elimination will be solved with glamour. I prefer to minimize the number of dead bodies, for I have no wish to deal with a state-wide clean up even before I begin my reign.

While I do believe the Amun reinforcements are highly qualified, I trust no one to obey me unreservedly. My instincts tell me that although these fighters have been given orders to follow my lead, their masters have also instructed them to discretely supply intelligence, for that is what I would do. The only solution I deem fit is glamour, and I use my skill with caution once the main strategy is explained and each one has an opportunity to speak to me one-on-one. I need to ensure there will be no leaks, and I reiterate that diligently, instilling the notion in their minds, seeing immediately the backflow patterns being blocked within their blue and the underlying structures dissolving.

Pam and Lumet begin developing individual cover stories, customizing and tailoring each one to avoid overlaps and contradictions. They also provide the newcomers with dispensable phones from the batch O'Brian acquired last night.

By midnight, I leave Pam and Lumet to finish at the Dexter house and together with Ridley return to Fangtasia. My woman phones to let me know Vlad has left. The true reason is to learn if my meeting went well.

"How's… work?"

I close the office door and sit on the couch, leaning back and shutting my eyes. The tension of the past two hours is still pressuring me, and I make myself relax and slow the flow of my energy.

"Without surprises."

As I channel my darkness, restoring my inner balance, I sense Sookie's calming presence flooding the bond. Her voice is soothing and soft like the touch of her lips. It must have been extremely unpleasant for her to share my stress and bloodlust for fight. My consolation, though, is that her skill of handling her side of our blood tie has immensely improved over the past two weeks and she should have been able to withstand my adverse influence.

When I wonder if that was the case, she says she's okay and it is hard for her to explain how she protects herself without cutting off the bond.

"When I return, show me."

"You busy right now?"

"Not at all, my lover."

"He left three vials of his blood. Stasis-spelled. It'll hold for a few weeks."

I sit up slowly.

"He's okay," Sookie says. "He's a good friend. I'll be taking him up on his offer."

"That is not a good enough reason. You must be comfortable for yourself."

"I am as much as I can. I figure the effect will wear out in a few weeks anyway, so it's just a temporary insurance."

"Yes, if you take it only once. You will not feel him, but he will be able to determine your location and sense your mood vaguely."

"Which is the point, isn't it?"

I do not answer. It is a price we both are willing to pay, and if I am no more, he will find her.

"I'll do it when we return from Vegas. Don't want to send mixed messages."

Indeed, the scent of another vampire's blood in her will be to hostile Nevadans like a red flag to a bull. She is thinking many steps ahead. "We should play chess, Sookie."

"Nah, I'm a chequers kinda gal. I'll beat your ass at in in a vampire minute."

I notice my facial muscles stretching on their own accord into a smile. "I accept. But for each stone you lose, an item of clothing is coming off that gorgeous body of yours."

"Remind me again how you survived for a thousand years with a one-track mind?"

"Very carefully." Ridley knocks on the door. "I must go."

The evening unfolds, brining no news, either bad or good. Pam and Lumet return in time for closing. As the club is swept and cleaned, and Heidi and Pam are at the register, going through receipts, I sit in my booth, watching, analyzing in my mind the previous meeting and preparing for the next.

That night, I spend an hour before dawn training with Sookie. Indeed, her command of my essence combined with her own evolved powers signifies a major milestone in the development of her magic. She is able to borrow from me on purpose, and levitates for over a minute with no support.

"You need to breath," I say after she lowers slowly on the floor and opens her eyes.

"When I do, I get distracted, and the control slips away," she explains, irritated.

"Then you need to keep practicing until it doesn't."

We test her telepathy. The range has increased to a mile and a quarter; it seems, however, the growth of the coverage area has been progressing at a slowing rate and I believe it will eventually stop entirely. Sookie does not bring up her request to open her mind to the strange voices and see what happens, and I, too, avoid the subject, but a part of me continues pondering the promise I made when she first asked me to help her. Toward the end of our session, I suggest we try something new.

"I want you to gradually distant yourself from me until you completely close your side," I say. "I will call to you through the bond. Let us see how you resist. Then we'll try the other way around."

As expected, my pull on Sookie is much stronger than hers on me. While she can maintain the block for a few minutes, I eventually break through the wall, using only a fraction of my strength. She, on the other hand, cannot penetrate my defense at all, although the pressure from her efforts is rather impressive.

"I feel you," she says. "Pam showed me how, so I know you're still alive."

In our bedroom, she points at a small black cube on the nightstand. "The vials are in there. You and I both can open the box, but only when I'm ready to take the blood, otherwise the spell will fail."

I store the cube in the safe until then.

.

Dragon Back Warrior by liquidd-1

**Friday Night, The Week of the Coronation**

Friday seems to repeat Thursday. An hour before dusk with my wife. Work. Tying loose ends and handling personal business. I run the tactical with team alpha. They are to penetrate the area surrounding the compound no later than Monday. This way I'll have everyone ready one full night before the preplanned offensive, for Madden is unpredictable, and I may need to strike immediately after the coronation.

From the Dexter house I drive home. Sookie is ready, and we leave to Bon Temps for the final walk-through. Taylor Price meets us at the farmhouse and dexterously shows around, systematically explaining the upgrades, security system, and even the expanded cubby-hole. I arch an eyebrow at inspecting the space that is now wide and deep enough to fit three Vikings.

"I might get jealous," I say very quietly into Sookie's ear. "Are you planning on stashing away stray vampires again?"

"Sentimental value," she whispers back. Her excitement grows with each minute we spend at the house. I find the renovations excellently done. The building has been made more durable and completely light-tight. The window glasses are the same I used for the Glass house. Sookie's choice of finishes does not differ much from what it used to be, thus preserving the original feel of the house which I am very fond of; however, the quality and sturdiness of the new materials, fixtures, paint, and wallpaper is indisputably better. I particularly approve of the changes to the second floor – the Master suite with large and modern bathroom and the dressing room. The latter is similar to what we have at the Glass house.

Price's men are in the process of cleaning debris, vacuuming and wiping surfaces inside and outside the house. Another hour, and Sookie and I are alone at last.

"I'm glad it's done," she says, running her hand over the mantel of the fireplace. "This house deserved it."

I come from behind and wrap my arms around her, putting my chin on top of her head. From my pocket, I pull a small box with a pearl necklace – a replica of the one that was destroyed in Las Vegas during the vamp dogs' attack. Upon my request, the replacement was made and delivered via DeadEx tonight. I slide the string of the large pearls around Sookie's slender neck. Her birthday is in two nights, but I do not care for waiting that long. "Happy birthday, lover."

She turns around, "Thank you. It's very sweet of you, but…"

I am awaiting the usual 'you didn't have to'.

"…you're forgetting something," she beckons me to lean closer, and I kiss her tenderly, with longing, then touch my forehead to hers. I soon will bear a new title, yet "You are the crowning achievement of my life."

She is struggling to hold back tears that gleam in her eyes brighter than the jewels around her neck. "It's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she replies, quietly. She laces her fingers through mine and, bringing my hand up, kisses it. "There's something I want to show you."

Not releasing my hand, Sookie leads me out of the house and into the woods, and I recognize the direction she is taking me in: towards the glade she had met the fairy-turned-deer. Having not a slightest idea what she is about to show me, I ask nothing, patiently waiting for Sookie's surprise to be unraveled, and when we step out of the woods, the explanation presents itself in the most amazing way.

Across the meadow, at the edge of the clearing, there stands a tree unlike any I have ever seen before, and I have seen great many. Not having outgrown the surrounding oaks, it however dominates among them with exceptional beauty and uniqueness of its bright red leaves shaped like waning crescents rimmed with green. The dark branches grow to the sides only to find enough room to speed up to the skies and support the magnificent foliage.

"This is Dahll," Sookie literally drags me to the tree. "It's a special tree that grows only in Faery near the Old Temples. It appeared here a day or two ago, I think. It's just a sapling, but it will grow into a colossus someday."

"How did it get here?" I wonder, slowly walking round it and grazing the leaves on the bottom branches with the top of my head.

"I can only guess Niall did it. He said Faery was my home too, and now I have a small part of it right here."

"That is a very… thoughtful gift."

"It's not just a gift, Eric," Sookie says, meaningfully. "Put your hands on the crust. Feel it."

I do, and once my skin touches that of the tree, I feel warmth running underneath the crust, coursing fast up and down. I press my palms harder and send a knot of my energy into the tree. As my darkness seeps in and connects with the strange warmth, I recognize immediately the magic. It is the same magic I took from Colman – the fairy whom I drained months ago and whose blood triggered the transformations in my own.

"It's the ancient spirit of Faery," Sookie explains, watching my reaction. "And _this_ is not just any tree."

She warps her arms around it and presses with her entire body against it. The bond suddenly expands like lungs breathing in fresh air and brightens up with Sookie's gaia. Her golden shimmer appears, and the sparks flow from her aura and into the tree, linking the three of us.

I witness her gaia gold lighten up the stream of the ancient spirit inside the tree and flow with it into the crown, through the branches and into the leaves. The veins of the crescents gleam as the leaves turn completely red, losing the green fringe. The Dahll hums with power, and a thin gap of white light opens up within it.

"A portal!" it dawns on me.

Sookie breaks away, and the gap closes. The golden light dies out, and the tree grows dark, once again a unique combination of red on brown.

I have never seen a portal like this. Hardly well camouflaged; though, Niall would have foreseen the danger of having a tree like this on Sookie's land. It must be somehow protected from the sights of strangers.

"This is amazing," I say.

"I found it yesterday. I couldn't wait to bring you down here," Sookie beams at me.

What do I do for a woman such as my bonded? What can I possibly give her to show my love, appreciation, and pride of having her, of being hers?

"Do you still want to try and hear what those voices want from you?"

Her eyes shine. "I thought you'd never ask."

was an integral part of.


	27. Ch 16: All the King's Horses Part 1

_A**/**N 04/29/2013 Chapter 17 is up on the blog, click the link in the profile to read. Thank you!_

**Ch 16: All the King's Horses… Part 1  
**

Seraphina by Leafbreeze7

**SPOV**

We left Shreveport shortly after the sun sank below the horizon. Eric had had the travel plans re-arranged so that all six of us were able to enjoy the benefits of having an Anubis Air private jet for twelve all to ourselves – a luxury I appreciated mostly because there was no need to share the enclosed space with strangers during the day while Eric would be trapped in a coffin for an hour before dusk.

With the difference in time zones, we were scheduled to land in Las Vegas no later than 8:30 p.m. That would give us half-an-hour at the most to check in and get ready for the first meeting with the royal staff and then for the grand opening at ten, followed by mingling, eavesdropping, and attempts to appear to be having a good time.

Pam was seated in the wide cushy armchair across the aisle. She was frowning, muttering under her nose, nodding to herself, then typing something on her laptop, and frowning again.

"Two extra hours of night, and what do you do with that?" I teased her. "Working or getting frustrated?"

"Both," she replied without turning head. "Would you like to help?"

"It depends."

Eric put the documents he was reading down on the round chrome table between us and looked at me. It was a long, meaningful look which I ignored. We hadn't said much to each other this evening after I'd asked him to send someone to check up on Hunter, and he'd produced a detailed report within minutes. As it turned out, he'd figured Hunter was like me when the boy had been staying with me in Bon Temps. The Viking kept tabs on him and even had a pair of trustworthy fangs systematically make his life easier by glamouring his teachers and neighbors into forgetting the startling moments of my nephew's weird behavior. Eric had assured me 'the little one' wasn't in any danger and no one showed a shred of interest in him for his strangeness. When I'd asked him – very politely – what the hell he'd been thinking going behind my back like this, he'd said, "We'll talk about it on the plane," as we'd had to get to the airport.

I was going to nail his ass all the way to the moon, so help me God.

"I want to rename the club once we launch," Pam said. "New location, larger occupancy, different clientele – and a new owner."

"What's wrong with Fangtasia?" I asked.

"It is a brand that in part will attract the wrong sort of breathers. I need something that will reflect the new us. We're in business of serving all supernaturals and nicer smelling humans."

"No more fans of the fang?"

My best undead friend gave me a sidelong glance. "They stink of cheap makeup, alcohol, and uncleanness. And they spend very little money. Should I elaborate further?"

I bit the inside of my cheek not to smile. Pam was a stoic when it came to work. Her personal feelings didn't matter much; however, presuming that to be in a room full of latex-covered fangbangers hours on end wasn't a challenge for a vampire's keen sense of smell would be a gross mistake. "Okey-dokey. Let's hear it."

Eric pulled another folder from the carry-on and started reading again. The bond was artificially calm. Whatever.

"New World? I'm not happy with how that sounds," Pam stared up into the ceiling as if hoping to find the right combination of words written there to her heart's content. "What of a human perspective?"

We tossed a few ideas for a short while when it clicked. "Babylon. Call it Babylon or something that'll have Babylon in it."

"All kinds of species," Pam thought for a moment. "Modern Babylon. The Night in Babylon."

"Tonight in Babylon."

"Hmm. Has a carnal twist, yet is very poetic," she smiled with excitement. "I like brainstorming with you. We should do this more often."

"The credit isn't mine," I finally met my husband's gaze. 'Babylon' was his reaction when we'd found out the Lost Lands had been reopened, and it had stuck with me.

Pam picked up the tiny white ear-bud headphones she had connected to her laptop. "You two better get over whatever sours both your faces before we land," she said very quietly. She cranked up the volume, plugged the buds into her ears and swiveled her chair with its back to us.

Valery was gently snoring two seats behind me. Jonathan Cramer was in the front row with Ridley, both in downtime. With no one listening, it should have been easier to talk. Unfortunately, I was still mad at Eric and even madder at myself for being unable to throw "You should have told me sooner" at him. While I couldn't help the bitterness I felt at being kept in the dark, the nagging, gnawing voice in me was whispering something about hypocrisy. Dammit! Why on Earth hadn't I told him about Faery when I had the perfect chance to come clean?

But that was the least of my worries. Hunter. I couldn't let him be dragged into vampire politics.

Eric interrupted the heavy silence first. "You have my word that regardless of how our future unfolds, his will be rife."

"Take it from me, he'll never be normal. And glamouring people around him isn't going to help," I replied, getting agitated. "It'll only make it harder for him to cope on his own."

"When he is mature enough to deal with his reality, the arrangement will be revised."

I tensed. "Revised? How, exactly?"

"It will be his responsibility to adjust his behavior accordingly to avoid the risk of exposure," Eric leaned closer. His voice remained soft and low. "But only when he is in a better control of himself."

I held a snarky comment back. "I'm sure you did what you thought was right," I muttered. "I'm more concerned with the long-term scenario."

From Eric's perplexed expression, I conjured he was expecting some well-deserved liver-chewing from me, and my mild response surprised him. "I _wanted _you to know, Sookie," he said, running his eyes over my face. "That is why tonight I revealed everything to you immediately upon your request."

"Your timing was a little off, don't you think?" rolled off my tongue. Crap. "Forget it."

"It is not in your character to expose secrets that are not yours. If you learned of my plans in the beginning, you would deny the child's ability," he explained. "And I was selfish enough to spear myself your forced lie. For that, I am sorry. It was… unbecoming of me."

A tingle of guilt coming through the bond didn't escape me. He didn't like hiding this from me.

I mulled over his statement. "Okay. I get it. You didn't want to put me on the spot, and you didn't want me to lie to you if you did. But he can't be a part of this life, Eric. He can't. You have me. You don't need him."

His eyes narrowed. "Is that what troubles you? Do you think I wish to use his gift?"

"You… _don't_?"

"A child has no place in my circle."

"Right. Good to finally know."

I realized a second too late I'd cut him to the quick, because his mood darkened in a blink. "I understand you are disappointed with me. But I have never led you to believe otherwise."

I gritted my teeth and pushed back against his overwhelming presence within the bond. "I assumed you'd be nothing but practical."

He recoiled. "Under different circumstances, yes."

"And by circumstances you imply _me_?"

"Practical would be glamouring him so that he would never be able to read another's mind again or speak of it with anyone. You would not appreciate that."

"You know, you should come up with another excuse, 'cause 'I did it for you' is getting really old," I seethed. Considering we were arguing in hushed whispers, that came out with the right amount of sarcastic indignation.

"Indeed," he hissed. "I have protected his life _and _his mind for you. Perhaps, I should have employed another less laborious alternative."

"Like what? Killing him?"

Eric paused, then sat back, suddenly very calm. My mouth went dry. What a stupid question to ask in the heat of the moment! I wasn't even sure I wanted him to answer. "Would you?"

"He may become an asset to an enemy. It would be very imprudent not to secure our interests in some way."

Blood pounded in my ears and echoed with pain inside my skull. "Your pragmatism sucks."

"It is common sense. In the wrong hands, not only will he suffer, but you as well."

"Answer the damn question."

"I do what it takes."

"Not good enough."

He arched an eyebrow. "I have apologized for not being forthcoming. I will not apologize for eliminating a possible liability. There is no factual basis for your anger."

Factual basis. He chose his words so carefully as if he was drafting a legally binding contract! I steeled myself. "You're missing my point, Eric."

"On the contrary. Kindness is your virtue but my disadvantage. I – _we_ – may not afford it."

I stared at him in disbelief; although, a part of me wasn't all that surprised. I cared about Hunter because he was family and I loved him. Eric's reasons for caring were not nearly as heartwarming as mine: he didn't want the boy, yet he would never let anyone else have him.

Everything came into a sharp focus. Ruthlessness was an inseparable component of Eric's nature, which I already knew. But _this_ was hitting too close to home. I had to stop burying my head in the sand and let it slide. Understanding where he was coming from – yes. Accepting – not necessarily. Would he really have the boy killed if it weren't for me? And would he just as easily do it _for me _if he thought it was warranted?

The idea that I might be the only thing stopping him, as well as probably the only thing that could push him to commit the despicable, was as frightening as it was appalling.

He was watching me, composed outwardly. On the inside, he was brewing with emotion, and not of the pleasant kind. Detachment. Harshness. Loneliness. Anxiousness. As his sadness trickled down to me, I realized that despite his love for me, his principles, the respect his people had for him, he still believed he was this cold monster capable of taking lives with no remorse.

His scars, although invisible, were deep and ugly. I didn't know if or when they would heal, but I refused to give up and stop fighting for the goodness I always saw in him clear as a day. And attacking him, arguing, yelling, or preaching he had no right to decide who lives or dies would never work.

"I know you can be merciless to those who deserve your wrath. I'm fine with your justice," I said, as I poured my absolute conviction into my voice and the bond. "Eric, you're many things. Grace under pressure. Strength of fortitude. Valor. Honor. I admire that. Every day, I keep peeling you off, layer after layer, and there's still so much more to uncover, but I know you're not this. You value life, and that you do is not a weakness."

My throat was getting thick. I retreated into my seat and stared out the window into the darkness that was mirrored by the glum in the bond. I'd stirred some nasty stuff in Eric, and I pulled myself into a small corner and let him have some space to work through it.

I pondered why he didn't want Hunter in his retinue. Was it because it would be more difficult to control a child than an adult, especially a child that may defy glamour? Would it be too risky and against mainstreaming rules? Or was he simply not patient enough to wait for the boy to grow up?

Perhaps, all of it. Or neither. Somehow, I intuitively sensed the roots for Eric's reluctance, whatever they were, went back into his past, to the mother (or rather, maker) of all evils in his undeath and his very own Armageddon. If that was the case, I didn't want to disturb the old wounds. The more pressing issue was that there were others, and not just supes, who wouldn't be too squeamish about Hunter's gentle age. If the government ever got a whiff of his telepathy, he'd spend the rest of his life as a lab rat or a spy. He'd be miserable and alone. As it stood, Eric was the only one sincere about his lack of interest in Hunter as a mindreader.

.

We Can Dream by dougm2k10

**EPOV**

Humanity. Like the recollection of what food used to taste in my day-walking years, the meaning of it blurred into an obscure, abstract concept centuries ago, replaced by pragmatism and instincts. I persevere. My causes are just, for I take care of me and mine at all cost. Self-conservation prevails over loyalty, and loyalty prevails over everything else.

It has been good enough for millennium. It _must _be good enough for another thousand years.

Sookie genuinely believes valuing life is not a weakness. The truth is I value vampire essence above vampires. Protecting life, with the exception of Sookie's, is not among my priorities.

The food chain was far different once, when there was symbiosis between Gaia and Vampires. We came from the same race and three undead generations later returned to our human ancestors in this realm. Then the order shifted. From guardians, vampires became hunters, and the web of history was spun for tens of thousands of years, maybe longer, with undead (as well as other creatures) only as figments of man's imagination. Humans feared us when they thought we existed only as a nightmare or myths. They fear us now, studiously pretending that the sacred magic that animates our bodies is a form of disease, a sickness caused by a virus. Pathetic! Yet, their ignorance has served us well until the Great Reveal – the next stepping stone in our evolution, as it was hoped by most undead.

What the planners of the Great Reveal did not anticipate was that our feed-and-fucks would undermine the very foundation of our culture in the subtle ways. Through comfortable amenities. Bank accounts. Passports and ID cards. Customer service. Donors for hire. We have underestimated their adverse influence, and that is dangerous above all. Breathers, as frail as they can be, drain, corrupt and discriminate against us. Vlad adheres to the school of thought that the softening effect of the society will be our downfall. I agree. One of the first laws I shall pass as a monarch will be establishing rigid rules of coexistence, and makers will be obligated to teach their children how to survive without the modern luxuries.

I shall do what it takes.

Before my mental gaze comes Sookie's shocked face. The unshed tears in her eyes. Her boundless trust and faith in me. I cannot deny that her reaction to my truth bothered me.

Survival before loyalty. Loyalty before everything else. Love, too? For now that I have tasted it, I shall never return to the undeath I had before, without it – her.

That Sookie has brought up the subject tonight of all nights does not strike me as coincidental. Rationally, I see clearly that the love I have for her goes against the very code that has carried me throughout perilous centuries and brought me countless victories and vast knowledge. It is a conflict that must be addressed at last, for it does not belong to the plane of theoretical and personal any longer, but practical and political. With new responsibilities and greater risks, both Sookie and I are bound to face situations that will challenge our unity, loyalty to each other, and our duties as leaders of the entire kingdom. I admit I have changed profoundly as a man, but do the changes stop there? Perhaps, that is what she meant by saying it was not good enough. Perhaps, it is time to amend my views as a vampire, as well.

Should I? I did so before, as I did not wish to remain stagnant, outdated, and closed-minded, for closed-mindedness that precludes adapting is a road to self-destruction. Like Vlad said the other night, it is natural for our kind to adjust to transience of customs, rules, and norms of human civilization. We are on the verge of new discoveries. New alliances. Unknown enemies. To succeed, I must think beyond the world as I know it and operate with variables and constants I have not been in need of incorporating into my reality until now. In light of the recent events in my undeath, the only conclusion to be drawn here is that continuing treating humans as if they are nothing but bloodbags is a thing of the past and a lapse in judgment, first and foremost because they have proved they are capable of stealthily damaging our kind. And if I accept they are more than food, is it not possible there will be those who deserve a chance to be distinguished from the herd?

Weakness or wisdom? Will it lessen my worth as a vampire? Or is it an indication that my horizons have broadened?

Only future will tell.

"What do you propose?" I finally speak up.

"Hunter has nothing to do with us," Sookie murmurs, turning to me. "The less our affiliation is known, the better."

"Unrealistic." Marriage and birth certificates are the matter of public record. Anyone who sets on investigating her family will inevitably discover the connection, "unless I authorize a massive clean-up operation that would involve breaking and entering, falsifying official documents, and memory adjustments."

I have also considered giving the boy and his elder new identities and relocating them; however, uprooting them would be equal to stirring the hornet's nest. Besides, Sookie would hardly approve of such radical methods.

She sighs, rubbing her temples. Now that her anger has dissipated, she appears to be inclined to admit my proactive approach is not completely insensible. "I used to think what I do with my life was my business," she says. "I just want to make sure he's all right and stays that way."

It bothers her that the boy can get hurt because of her. But I may not ignore his potential of hurting her, too, and I tell her so.

"That's a selfish point of view," she protests, not without ambivalence.

Hardly, and I am certain she knows so, yet is hesitant to acknowledge the rightness of my words. I do not doubt her love, but only those who have nothing to lose are untouchable. Everyone else has an Achilles' hill, and my wife is no exception. She is vulnerable, and the higher she climbs the supernatural hierarchy ladder, the more amply our enemies will exploit her weaknesses. Her kindness and compassion make her heart susceptible to the worst kind of torture – crippling and unforgivable in her own mind. If forced to choose, she will be cornered. I know my lover well enough to understand what an impossible dilemma she will be dealt with, and a decision, once it is made, will destroy something precious in her, poison our relationship with guilt.

I say nothing. It is not my intention to test her devotion or scrutinize her morals. Besides, her answer would not matter. She will never have to choose. She will never have to pay the ultimate price for me.

I take her hand in mine. All I tell her is that I believe that as long as we are honest with each other, we shall always find a way.

.

**SPOV**

The bond was settling down. I felt better as it warmed with love and I let it flow over me, calming my nerves and easing the tension.

"I appreciate you're not entangling him into our problems," I said. "And I don't want Gòro to find out about him."

Eric ran his thumb across my palm. "Naturally."

"I want to receive regular reports from your agent," I went on, firmer.

He nodded.

"If I decide there are too many glamoured people around Hunter, you'll have it scaled down."

"To a degree."

"Fine. Also, I'll be the one to determine when he's ready."

A smile curved up the corners of Eric's lips. "You've become quite the negotiator."

"No interference unless there is an immediate threat. And at some point we'll have to tell Hunter."

"Agreed. But the arrangement will apply to his children if they inherit the trait."

"I reserve the right to veto that. No evidence of telepathy – no protection."

"Contingent upon your personal evaluation of them."

"You don't miss anything, do you?"

"If I do, I trust you will point my errors to me right away."

"You can count on that."

And just like that, the peace between us was restored, to our mutual relief.

"I do not care for disappointing you," he uttered almost inaudibly.

Children have no place in his or my circle, and I've come to accept that truth all on my own for quite some time now. It wasn't his fault. "You haven't. I'm sorry about… you know." An apology, just like credit, is due when it's deserved. My careless remark had hurt him, and I didn't mean it the way it had come out. "I'm not looking for more. I'm happy with what we have."

He kissed my knuckles one by one, then turned my hand palm up and touched the inside of my wrist with his lips, inhalilng. I shivered.

He looked up at me with need. Great need. Mine wasn't any less.

"You should rest. We have a long night ahead of us." He gave me a tiny squeeze and let go.

I cleared my throat. "Let me wake Pam up, or she'll go deaf."

"Pam only loses her hearing when it suites her. Or me."

I could hear the music from her headphones: techno, or trance, or whatever they called the rhythmical beat and deep bass, was literally blaring into her ears. Carefully, I found the sound button on the laptop keyboard and lowered the volume.

Eric shuffled the papers spread in front of him and went back to reading.

"What are these?" I asked, pushing a page with pie-charts toward him.

"De Castro's last minute request. Statistics on the gambling industry in Louisiana."

"Not from Area One?"

"I am sure he has requested the same from Madden."

"He's going to compare your work and pit you two against each other again."

"Four more nights," Eric replied evenly, "Then it will be over one way or another."

.

**EPOV**

Privacy is becoming a rare commodity for me and Sookie. Thankfully, Raven fell asleep on her own, without glamour. I probe the relaxed and slow essence of Cramer's and Ridley's fields. I send a knot of my energy to invigorate them and bring them out of the slumber I inflicted upon them with my magic the soon we boarded the plane. Pam, however, I did not touch and have monitored her state through our blood tie. Throughout my entire conversation with Sookie, she stirred once for a few seconds, then blocked her senses again.

I call to my child, and she comes to in a flash.

"Review these figures," I say quietly in Old Norse, reading through the summary of the industry analysis. "Look at the prognosis for the first five year, see if you can find any inconsistencies."

Pam takes the folder I am holding out to her. "Yes, Master."

Her formal address makes me actually look at her. Serious, she is gazing at my sleeping lover.

"How much did you hear?"

"She compared you to an onion," there is no sarcasm in her tone, only concern and, surprisingly, appreciation.

I need not tell her to mention nothing of it. "Start reading. We have less than an hour."

I finish proofing the conclusion and review sections of the report and then go over the agenda for the weekend. I need to carve an hour of free time without witnesses, for there is someone I must meet. Tonight's major even is the grand opening of Hacienda, followed by cutting of the red tape of the vampire gambling floor – a function for a narrow circle of mostly undead and at least one human telepath. The coronation ceremony and celebration are scheduled for Sunday. We are to fly back to Shreveport early Monday morning before the sunrise: the travel coffins will be prepared for the four of us, Ridley included, on board of an Anubis private jet.

I will be in the king's demand most of the weekend; my only window of opportunity to escape attention is after the tonight's formalities are over.

"The forecast appears to be solid in general," Pam interrupts my train of thoughts. "However, the projections for the first two years are too optimistic. I had to look up the references. You used the pre-oil spill statistics for tourism, but in my opinion your adjustment of 10 percent decrease in seasonal traffic is not enough. Therefore, the figures are inflated."

"So long as the error is not obvious."

Pam squints at me (an expression very similar to the one Sookie uses. My two women are becoming more alike each night, as if they are indeed sisters.) "You never knowingly produce a faulty result."

"Madden has been given a similar task."

Pam understands without a further explanation that I'd rather de Castro finds my work inferior to Victor's, for the latter is unpredictable and unstable. I see no need to irritate a snake before cutting its head off.

Two black Limousines are awaiting our party at the airport, and we arrive to the hotel with no delay, but there is hold up as we pass through the security post within the arched gateways designated exclusively for the guests of the vampire wing. Sookie comments on the additional ornaments and overall excessive opulence of Hacienda. There are red carpets laid out, and a festive music accompanies the water and light show in the center of the grand square. Humans and supernaturals are arriving in groups, some of them laughing, some official, somber and dignified. Unavoidable cameramen and paparazzi are lined along the rope lines, and I hear cheerful voices of reporters, "Live, from Hacienda, the hottest casino hotel in Las Vegas…" Publicity. Insatiable for scandals spectators. Annoying spotlight.

The entrance of the vampire wing, shielded from the general crowd's eye, is being serviced by quick and obliging staff. Their brown with gold liveries, as well as the overly simple and unnoticeable black and white of the security personnel, do not stand out amidst the colorful sea of expensive designer clothing of the guests; yet, the number of the guards seems to have been tripled compared to what it was during our first visit.

Raven will be staying at Bellagio, for Hacienda has been booked for months in advance for this weekend. Sookie and I have discussed the precautionary security measures, and it has been agreed that if I cannot obtain an H4 pass for Raven, Sookie will spend the day with her outside the vampire wing. She is also to ward the bedroom I will be resting in with the same spell she used for the Glass house, keeping all who wish me ill out.

As soon as we enter our suite, Sookie pulls the garment bag with my Armani suit off the luggage trolley and walks into the bedroom, and I follow, carrying in the suitcases.

"I need five minutes," she says, throwing the bag on the top of the bed and hurrying to the bathroom.

Using a moment alone, I focus and carefully release the globe of my energy, expanding it in small increments. The more space I include, the greater the commotion is, the more hectic the warmth of two-natured and humans are, the vaster the range of shades of blue I encounter. It is staggering and overwhelming to continuously scan such a mixed and anxious throng, and so I command my essence to regroup and target only vampires within my reach. On the second attempt the structure of my energy changes. I shut my eyes, recalling the three-dimensional plans of the building, and one by one begin tracking down and placing those I recognize by the signature of their dark magic.

The house is full. Aside from the new arrivals, I detect de Castro, his council, Eugene Harold, Valetti, the sheriffs of the tri-state kingdom, their crews, the ambassadors from two weeks before… and Victor Madden. Him I would recognize instantly out of millions, for the backward and abnormal flow of his patterns is unmatched. Sick motherfucker.

I decide to monitor him and the other vampire I am interested in and to keep a very small globe around me for the night, as a safety measure. I undress quickly, and by the time I have changed, Sookie emerges, her hair slick, shiny, and braided on the side. Although she looks refreshed and industrious, I sense the almost palpable tension emanating from her.

_Headache? _I ask mentally, and receive a negative wave of hand in response.

As I tie the Windsor knot, I watch her in the mirror putting on black underwear and wrapping her soft curves into a burgundy dress. Despite the rush we are in, I cannot help but notice that the length – an inch or two above the knee – reveals a seductive and promising section of smooth, tanned skin, and her legs look even longer when she slips black high-heel stilettos on.

"If I don't end up ruining these too, I'm going to donate them to Pam's Fangtasia shoe rack," she says with a nervous laugh.

"I doubt that is a proper path to earn her gratitude."

I open the small safe-box and take out my watch, gold cufflinks, and a tie-clip.

"What's that, a Rolex?" Sookie glances at the watch as she goes through the jewelry in the box, pulling the pearl necklace and elegant diamond ear studs.

"Breitling. Super Avenger."

She huffs under her breath, "How very appropriate."

I help her fasten the string of pearls around her neck, standing behind her and meeting her eyes through the reflection in the full-length mirror.

"It is a large crowd tonight," I say. _Noisy._

"Gamblers mostly," she replies.

She is blocking their thoughts, then. But will she be able to handle them all and not completely exhaust herself by Monday morning?

_to be continued..._


	28. Ch 16: All the King's Horses Part 2

_A**/**N 06/07/2013 Chapter 18 is up on the blog!_

**Ch 16: All the King's Horses… Part 2  
**

SPOV

Albeit I was in the thick of a huge congregation of brains, I wasn't particularly suffering. Thanks to Gòro, my significantly improved filters were working smoothly, and the gambling block seemed to take no effort to maintain whatsoever. The only other discrepancy in the broadcasts was the general current of thoughts and emotions colored with lively excitement. These were the minds abuzz with the anticipation of the grand opening.

Another strong – familiar – current was coming from the surveillance team underground. The number of broadcasts wound on observing, following, and protecting VIP's appeared to have multiplied several times, and all microphones and cameras in the entire hotel were functioning at their full capacity.

Hacienda had been transformed into a huge glass bowl where no one was safe to utter a word without being overheard or to move a muscle without being noticed. The loss of privacy bothered me more than anything, more than being surrounded by thousands agitated minds.

Victor Madden was in the royal chambers two or three floors above us. While Eric went to let Pam and Jonathan in, I touched up my makeup, but all I could really see was the room Victor was in, through the eyes of his two humans.

The briefing we were due for was held in a conference room on the fifth floor, and Paul Valetti was running it. After the first couple of minutes, I concluded the point in assembling all the Arkansas, Louisiana, and Nevada sheriffs and their teams was to keep all of us on our toes. When Valetti went on busting a few chops for non-compliance to the protocol, I tuned out, letting my vampires do the listening, and concentrated on scanning everyone who was thinking or visualizing Victor.

I found whole bunch of glamoured nothing. Nothing but feeding and… Ew.

Either Victor was paranoid, or he anticipated me poking about.

A tug on my elbow brought me out of the mental dimension.

"Everyone but the sheriffs is excused," Valetti announced.

"See you later," I whispered to Eric.

We parted ways with Ridley by the elevators; he had to check in with his masters. Jonathan said he was going to network and would meet us in the lobby, and Pam came down to my room with me. While she called the room service to order blood, I removed the pearls, took my wrap-dress off and wiggled into the blue evening gown I was supposed to wear at the rehearsal two weeks ago, but had to show off Felipe's unwelcome purple gift instead.

I wiped off the maroon lipstick and generously applied "Nude Caramel" after sweeping my face and neck with a powder brush. I had chosen for the outfit an asymmetrical platinum necklace shaped like a sinuous question mark with the top curve hooked around the neck and a short tail ending an inch or two above my cleavage. Three large diamonds, arranged from small to large to form a sparkling drop, hung from the tip of the tail.

Eric had dropped the necklace and a heap of other beautiful pieces on me a few nights ago: earrings, bracelets, brooches, more rings, even a few toe rings. He had not however gotten me a single customary chain.

It wasn't that I mind wearing chains. It was that this particular requirement of the etiquette rules turned the inoffensive piece of jewelry into a symbol of everything I found archaic, repulsive, and savage about vampires' attitude toward humans. It was a brand, the kind ranchmen used to mark cattle that belonged to them. And I had to play my part in this freak show.

"Hell."

Pam peered into the bedroom. "Is that how you signal a fashion emergency?"

I lifted Eric's platinum chain and dangled it in the air.

Pam gave me a thorough once-over, then came to stand by my side. "May I?" she pointed at the jewelry.

"Go ahead, dig in."

"These," she pulled out a pair of long earrings and laid them out on her palm. There were a few delicate links connecting the diamond in the base to a small sapphire in the middle and a larger diamond at the end. "These will do. Would you like me to help you with your hair?"

I ran my hand over the braid and glanced in the mirror as I did. The braid was obscuring the jugular.

A major blood vessel must be exposed – another rule.

I took a deep cleansing breath. I wasn't going to let this get to me. Stupid rules, they didn't change who or what I really was.

Pam quickly removed pins from her hair and with vampire speed transformed my modest braid into an elegant up-do.

"You are all set, my dear telepath," she said, smiling at me with satisfaction.

"Thank you." I kept examining my reflection, not entirely believing the beautiful woman I saw was me. I pivoted left and right, trying to see myself from all angles. Yep, the scars from the Maenad attack were still there, although hardly visible, but it was me all right, and somehow, recognizing Sookie Stackhouse Northman in that glamorous diva gave me more confidence.

"I'll be outside," Pam said.

The door clicked as she left. I stood in the bedroom, with my eyes closed, and began whispering the incantation of the protective ward. I spilled some good will into the shield, for a good measure. Then I grabbed my new beaded clutch, stuffed my cell phone, the key-card, and a few other essentials into it, and together with Pam headed to her room.

Eric and I had been given a suite almost like the one we'd occupied before: a modest foreroom and a large bedroom. Pam and Jonathan were quartered farther down the hall, sharing a spacious single that had been transformed into a double, on the account of the hotel overflowing with guests.

"How's your roommate?" I asked, looking around. Warm colors, potted orchids, and the AC set on subzero temperature.

"Fine." Pam tied a ponytail and swirled it into a knot at the nape of her neck. "As long as he picks up wet towels after himself, that is."

There was a little time before we had to rock the red carpet. Eric was still stuck in the meeting, and not a single breathing person was privy of it. I had only caught a glimpse of Felipe and his people, including Victor, going behind closed doors.

"Let's go downstairs," I suggested. "I'll show you the Lounge Den. Might give you some ideas for Babylon."

"Oh, yes," Pam smirked, smoothing the pink silk cocktail dress over her sides and legs. She looked like a celebrity. Or a princess. With fangs. "It is always good to know what _not_ to do with my club."

.

EPOV

It is rather unexpected that the king himself graces us, the area heads, with his presence on the night his time is so short. His entourage is complete: Victor Madden, Yashimo Takashi, Maria Rivera, Anàn Paleski, and Eugene Harold.

"Your goal is simple," de Castro begins without preamble. "Mingle, connect, and entice. I want you to leak the news that the kingdom is expanding its economic interests. Gambling. Advertising. Marketing services. Adult film industry. Movie production. Entertainment. Catering to vampires, including livestock. We are prepared to loan, invest, and finance. Nevada eagle is spreading its wings wide."

Madden reacts with an aggressive spike of his patterns. Harold's merely ripple, then return to normal. His self-control is beyond astonishing.

"The first step is Louisiana," and de Castro signs to Takashi to continue.

"The projections are favorable," the tattooed CFO speaks up. "We have already started looking into buying out the top five most profitable casinos, which will serve as a platform to bring new ventures into the state once the operations pick up. We will work on plans that will allow all three states to cooperate as one with benefits: discounts, promotional packages, concerts, show tours – and we bring a flavor of Las Vegas to Louisiana."

Only a flavor, though, as if to say: this is an imitation, come see and live the real Sin City. The plan is ambitious and bordering on black market, porn, drugs, and human trafficking, none of which I wish to dirty my hands with.

Takashi expounds on details we are allowed to share for now: special deals, exemptions from royal taxes for the first six fiscal quarters, available franchising, etc. Indeed, de Castro has no designs to give up Louisiana and Arkansas, instead using them as a backyard for murky businesses of his. Clever and devious: clean his own state as much as he can and shuffle the shady enterprises to the poorer territories no one gives a fuck about. Another reason for Amun to rid of him once and for all.

Although I know this expansion plan will never come to pass, a part of me is curious as of whom the king will appoint to oversee the Louisiana phase: Madden? A third party? Or me?

The question is never asked nor answered.

"Gentlemen," the king straightens up, "Do not be late," and, accompanied by the council and Madden, leaves.

Harold lingers behind, conferring quietly with one of the Nevada sheriffs. As the conference room is emptying, I submit my report to Valetti and ask if he might aid me with a personal matter.

"How can I be of service?"

"I wish to make a purchase. I hope you can direct me to a reliable supplier."

Valetti stuffs the folders under his arm along with a thin tablet he seems to be extremely attached to. He relies on technology too much. "What kind of purchase?"

"Fur. Las Vegas has the best on the continent to offer."

"There is a store not far from the strip," he replies after a moment of consideration. "His Majesty often uses their in-house designer, but given the time constraints I assume you'll need something pre-made. They have quite an assortment for the most fastidious of the tastes. If you'd like, I can make a call."

"I appreciate it. I prefer to have this taken care of before the sunrise."

"Of course. Tomorrow is a busy night, especially for you. Make yourself available as soon as you rise. You will be called upon."

There are a few vampires waiting by the elevators, and I use the back stairs, reaching the foyer before they do. I sense Sookie close, but I only see her as I near the entrance: she and Pam are seated on a sofa in a lounge corner, and Cramer is approaching us as my two women rise to their feet.

My child and my wife look exquisitely splendid. Pam's cold charm and in-bred aristocratism shine through her every gesture, and Sookie's skin is glowing, in part due to my blood, as well as the sun she so loves to bask in. She is dressed in deep blue, and the thin velour flows over her voluptuous forms, translating her stride into effortless glide. Her shoulders and arms are exposed, and her perfect breasts high and firm under the fabric. I stifle the thought of how exactly they – and the rest of her – look without covers and feel to my touch, naked and warm, and her heart rate escalates slightly upon registering my desire and adoration.

I take her hand, drawing her closer, and breathe in the sweet scent of her, spiced with one of the custom perfumes I had ordered for her when I was preparing the Glass house in hopes of her accepting it as her own one night. The bouquet is unmistakably _her_: tantalizing, unique, and bold. "Shall we?"

"By all means," Sookie sneaks her arm around mine and rests her hand on my forearm. "We've been waiting long enough for this weekend, haven't we."

A few couples proceed ahead of us, including Richard Boelsen, the Sheriff of Louisiana Area Three, and his human companion, and the California crew without their king and queen; although the Narayana monarchs and several of the Amun crowns are already at Hacienda, they will not attend this grand opening for humans, but the second one – underground.

The security lets us through the cordon outside the building, and we cross the internal square of Hacienda, walking the red carpet that runs directly from the entrance of the vampire wing to the main hotel, connecting with the second path for humans: movie stars, artists, influential businessmen, and such, all of whom in some ways are tied to de Castro's omnipresent enterprises. Not only they are here because of their prominent status, but to also advertise and endorse Hacienda in the media and to their numerous fans.

The cameras snap and flash. People scream and whistle as their favorites pose for photos and pass, waving at them, and the reporters chatter non-stop. Sookie's grasp on my arm tightens. Her posture remains as fine and her smile as bright; however, her anxiety, while quite a natural reaction, ratchets up, and I send her calmness and reassurance.

"Tell me," I whisper to her. "Do they not envy me?"

Her surprise overpowers the stress for an instant, "They don't know us. Yet. Some of them think you're a basketball pro from Norway, or Sweden, or something."

"I have a woman by my side whose radiance would eclipse that of Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo," I say. "Every man in this crowd wishes to trade places with me at least for a second," and I believe so unequivocally.

Sookie smiles, flooding the bond with happiness and gratitude, and a gentle blush colors her face. "It's unnerving," she admits, "To see yourself through the eyes of all these people."

"Get used to it, my lover."

.

**SPOV**

Hacienda was a monstrosity on the outside, and its guts were just as gigantic. We stepped into a large lobby, and I didn't have time to notice much of anything except for the greenery and marble floors with intricate design, because the security – the look-alike bulky guys in black suits and hacked out of stone faces that never crack a smile – quickly stirred us over to the gaming area to the left (as I picked from their focused minds, they were trying to maintain the premises unclogged and traffic unimpeded for the safety purposes.)

It was really noisy here, and people kept arriving. Eric led me deeper to the center of the casino, and Pam and Jonathan closely followed. The chirping and ringing of the slot machines were creating a chaotic background for the cacophony of clatter, voices, and music, and as we passed card tables, roulette, poker rooms, and the VIP booths, I realized no one played those. The dealers in golden with light purple vests and matching bow ties were on stand-by, ready to begin. Not surprisingly, every minute a deck of cards wasn't shuffled or a ball didn't bounce in the roulette, the casino was losing money, and high rollers, rookie players, curious folks, and the dealers themselves were impatiently waiting for the night to kick off.

Hostesses in short, spaghetti-strap uniform dresses were like golden-purple shuttles, maneuvering through the mass of bodies with trays, offering refreshments: champagne and blood. I accepted a flute with the bubbly drink, and my companions, too, occupied their hands, but not their mouths. I belatedly thought back to the blood Pam had ordered in my room: she had specifically requested a bottle she could heat up herself. A sealed bottle.

Pam was speaking with a vampire woman next to us, and I vaguely placed her at Sophie-Anne's wedding in New Orleans palace.

"Vampires can never play in human casinos," she was saying, "They have such annoying habits. Smoking, for one."

"Did you know second-hand smoking could be lethal?" I asked.

Pam didn't laugh, but her nostrils flared.

"Every species have their oddities," Jonathan said. "Our kind has different standards."

"You must be looking forward to the opening of the vampire casino, Paige," Eric said.

"Yes," Paige overcame my human rudeness and gazed up at my honey-bun. I didn't need to read her to know exactly what she was thinking. Bitch. "Very. Have you been?"

"Two weeks ago," Eric nodded. "His Majesty was so kind as to give his minions a preview."

Paige asked for spoilers, and as Eric gave her a profuse answer that contained none, I started sifting through images of him I was receiving with an alarmingly increasing rate since we'd made appearance in public. Women and even men were not immune to the Viking's sex appeal, and I couldn't blame them. He was oozing confidence and power, and he simply looked great from blond locks that cascaded down to his broad shoulders, to the tips of his stylish dress shoes. _Mine,_ I thought possessively, earning an amused and very pleased smile from him.

Of all things I'd expected this weekend to be, boring wasn't one of them, yet there we were, killing time. I stood still and looked around. The predominant colors were black, purple (actually light purple, probably to differentiate from the royal purple), and gold. The ceilings were very high – maybe, higher than in the Throne Room – and decorated more sophisticatedly than the floor, which was covered with a rather plain dark carpet. I glanced under my feet. I was standing on a miniature crown – a corner element of the diamond pattern.

What an irony.

It was bright as a day here. I ran my eyes over the rich moldings of the ceiling broken down in alternating squares: one with a huge chandelier, then one with recessed lighting and the royal emblem in the center. Now, the human-size eagles were done masterfully, no argument about it. The wings were spread wide, and it seemed as if each feather had been hand-painted. And thank God, someone had enough brains to change the disturbingly red of the eye to a more appealing black.

Which made me wonder where Valerie was. The filter set on my image immediately piped her thoughts: she was inside, searching for us. I peeked in, then texted her: "To your right, past the black jack tables."

I caught another image of Eric, addled a bit, as if the memory wasn't very clear. I've learned long time ago that when our mind fails to reproduce the exact image of a specific person, we compensate by adding features we know or see often around us, for instance, substituting the nose we can't remember with a nose of our favorite actor. I pulled on the reddish thread. A guard. A Were. He was pushing a cart with what he referred to as "precious cargo," and was recalling rumors about Sheriff Northman of Louisiana. Some altercation involving a woman… The memories rapidly changed to black on orange stripes. _Kill!Kill!Kill! _shrilled in my head as the guard relived the moment of blood thirst and adrenaline pumping. People yelling. Thumbs pointing down. Animals roaring. A ripped body of a big wolf changing back to its human form. Satisfaction.

I shuddered and jumped out of the Were's mind. I felt as if I'd touched something disgusting, and I silenced him, putting a cross over the broadcast.

Of course, sooner or later I was going to bump into someone who'd make the connection between Eric and the star of the pits in Las Vegas. I'd just been lucky not to until tonight, is all. Pit fights were very popular amongst Nevada supes, and it wasn't easy to get to watch or bet in one. But there were many who'd heard through the grapevine about Quinn the were-tiger's return and about the vampire who'd banished him from his lands.

I put the flute down on the green table behind me. Valerie was standing there, _ivegotyourback…_

"You're right on time," I said to her, gladly distracting myself with what was going to happen next.

A booming voice from speakers announced the keynote speaker James Hamlin, the managing director of Hacienda, and the standing crowd exploded with applause, as a tall man – a human – began walking up the stairs to a long, narrow gallery temporary built against the western wall.

"I won't bore you with long speeches," he began, and the crown cheered again. Mr. Hamlin had a scratchy low voice, sault-and-pepper hair, and he used his hands while he talked. He welcomed everyone to Hacienda, "where dreams come true, and unforgettable experiences are forged."

"I feel like I'm in Disneyland," I murmured, and Val snorted.

Mr. Hamlin didn't disappoint: the speech _was_ short.

"We want you to relax! Enjoy! Spend your money!" Mr. Hamlin laughed in conclusion, and his laughter rolled through the listeners as they joined in on the joke. "Because you're not here just to play. No," he became serious. "You're here so that we could make this the best times of your lives." He saluted everyone with champagne and finished it in one gulp. Then he turned the flute upside down and shook a small yellow item out on his palm. "This," he held the circle with two fingers, "is the only special limited issue of Hacienda chips to commemorate this night. Ladies and gentlemen, bottoms up, and let's play!"

Sometimes, being a telepath takes the fun out of surprises: every flute with champagne had a one-hundred dollar chip in it.

The humans hurriedly gulped their drinks. Delighted oh's and ah's marked the discovery of the chip, music played louder, and every screen in the casino lit up with blinking lights. Suddenly the pressure on the gambling block became almost painful. It took me a minute to redirect my mental powers and establish a new balance between the reality around me and the reality inside my head.

A hostess came to collect empty glasses, and Valerie put mine and hers, also full, on the tray. She didn't care. She didn't drink on the job.

"One hundred dollars per breather, they have spent at least two hundred thousand on champagne," Jonathan said.

"And they will probably earn enough to compensate that by the time the show ends," Pam responded.

Eric sent the two vampires to mingle, and together with Valerie, we made our way to a small stage at the very end of the casino floor. It was slightly isolated from the players with decorations and columns, and as we sat around a small white-clothed table, the lights were dimmed, and blue stage lights changed the atmosphere in this tiny corner from hectic to tolerable.

Modern dance studio Swans provided entertainment for the next half-hour. Interestingly, most of the people chose to play rather than watch the show. For me, it could have been a nice reprieve before the next event, if it weren't for the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Was that a gloomy and pessimistic outlook? Or was it just my experience talking?

Eric leaned closer. "What is it?"

"Just… overreacting, I suppose," I whispered back. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I was fairly sure it had nothing to do with humans.

.

**EPOV**

The security is extremely tight, and we go through a few check points within the vampire wing before being allowed downstairs. As we enter the vampire gambling floor and pass the simple gaming rooms formally sealed with purple tape, Sookie tenses again. I recall with perfect clarity the night of the Vampire dogs fight, and even though the carpets have been replaced, the walls repainted, and every molding, fixture, and light bulb cleaned, the thick, musky, nauseating smell of animal bodies and blood is as vivid in my memory as if it were in the underground air.

Pam's anger is rising; I am certain she is thinking of that night as well, and perhaps the fact that she was not here with me and Sookie adds to her frustration more than anything.

I quickly scan the underground with my energy, looking for anything suspicious. I am prepared to remove Sookie out of here at the first sign of danger, kings or not, and deal with the consequences later. With the exception of my wife and two reddish very calm presences, there are only a few humans in the distant corner of the underground level – these must be the donors, kept away from everyone in order not to elicit or produce any unwelcome reactions (accelerated heartbeat, for instance) that would affect the game.

_Five humans. South side. Donors?_ I ask Sookie.

She slightly nods.

_Glamoured? _

Another nod.

_Two weres north?_

She turns to Pam. "All that babble upstairs, and you hear nothing down here. Like everybody's sound asleep."

Madden is gaining on us, and I send a warning to Sookie.

"That is how we like it," he appears by her side. "Quiet."

"Like in the grave?" she replies, not even looking at him. "My apologies if my breathing will upset the ceremony."

"Not at all. The ceremony, in fact, necessitates that our assemblage is enlivened with some humanly… enthusiasm."

"I am frankly surprised, Mr. Madden," Sookie finally glances at him, "that there can ever be such thing as lack of human enthusiasm in this part of town. Makes you wonder if enthusiasm is not compatible with glamour."

Sookie's sarcasm however produces no dent in his essence. "Are you certain this one heels nicely, Eric?"

"I seem to never require her to," I answer nonchalantly. "My wife is a very perceptive woman."

"Well, then I am sure her qualities will serve you well tonight."

"That sounded like a warning," Pam says in Old Norse once Madden moves on.

The assemblage is at the same hall where Castello's trial was held; the dais on which de Castro presided over the dispute settlements have been removed, and a clearing left in the center of the room, with circular seating built around it.

Sookie's pulse gives away her anxiety. "Arena."

The single word explains everything. Although not on the agenda, there will be a fight to entertain the regal guests. Someone will die. The two weres in the back are the fighters. They are probably drugged, which means they are not aware of the arrangement.

We take our seats in the back, for the front rows are designated for the Narayana and Amun rulers, their crews, and the royal council.

I try to discern a scent – a trail, at least; alas, the air is well conditioned, cooled, and dappled with by now well familiar smells. Arkansas people are to our right. Sheriff Harrison and his second-in-command Sunil are seated next to us, and as kings and queens begin entering the room, I hear the dark-skinned vampire whisper to his master, "I'll be betting on the tiger."


	29. Ch 17: and All the King's Men Part 1

_A/N Hi folks! This chappie has a soundtrack, visit the blog to listen along with the fight scene. Enjoy!_

**Ch 17: ...and All the King's Men Part 1  
**

**SPOV**

The dark-sinned vampire's words sank in, and chills ran through me.

I'd missed it. _Hands on metal bars, pushing a cart. Precious cargo. Orange. Black stripes. _The hardly contained rush, the senseless urge to bet should have been my cue to dig deeper, not to block the disturbing thoughts so soon. Dammit! Had I kept probing, I would have been prepared for this.

Quinn was going to fight. To kill or be killed, no doubt about it. Really, what kind of a vampire ceremony would the opening of Hacienda be without blood? And who's best equipped for the job than the most ferocious and angriest fighter they could find in Nevada?

Mechanically, I rose alongside Eric and Pam and bowed in greeting to the king, while aiming my entire telepathic force at the two sleeping minds in the back rooms, alas with no success. Then I wondered if the upcoming bloodshed was only for a show, or if there was more to it. There seemed to be no obvious connection between my being here and Quinn, but with the Nevada bunch, one could never be sure. Was this some sort of punishment for Quinn? Was this a trap to tickle _my_ nerves? To make me embarrass Eric?

No, Felipe wouldn't do that. Not out in the open, at least. The odds were he was too vain and narcissistic to spoil his shining moment with such petty business as publically setting up Eric or me. Sheriffs were disposable, after all. Small potatoes. As was I – he proved that the last time I was in this very room.

But despite all the logic, the feeling that something really bad was going to happen wouldn't let go. Scheming and plotting wasn't just up the king's alley. If not Felipe de Castro, then Victor. If not Victor, then Eugene Harold. If not Eugene Harold, then… then someone else. There was always someone else.

I took a deep breath and tried not to act more frantically than my heart rate suggested I would. The only living person among the present, for the first time in my entire life I wished I'd be as cold and without pulse. Eric's strength came in waves, helping me stay still and think straight. No matter what happened, I would _not _make a fool of myself or my bonded! This was so not Rhodes, and I was so not the fat cow Cleo Babbitt had thought me to be.

Carefully, I looked around the huge room and the arena. No cage. The floors snow white. The undead in suits, ties, furs, and jewels; the cream of the crop of Amun and Narayana – down in the front my human opinion, this was far from the perfect setup for a messy pit fight. But any flimsy hopes that no one was going to die were erased once Felipe de Castro stood up and promised his venerable guests, their crews, and his own people a thrill of the century.

.

**EPOV**

The king is brief. Once finished, unhurriedly, he turns around and walks off the arena to his chair, where he sits, surrounded by his flock – the council, Madden, Eugene Harold, Valetti, and few others. With Amun to his right and Narayana to his left, he is in the center of everybody's undivided attention for the moment. He ought to enjoy himself, for he and his are desired and envied, which must be as flattering as it is crushing. True, I do not give a fuck, but I can still appreciate the magnitude of the pressure he is under: there has not been a gathering of so many crowns in a single place in centuries, and not only de Castro must demonstrate he is a competent ruler, delicate and gracious host, and a successful businessman. He must prove to himself above all else that he has the best there is to offer in the two largest clans on the continent. Best entertainment. Best blood. Best service. Best – and worthy of admiration and jealousy of anyone who has been given the chance to partake the pleasures of his court for the weekend.

I find very comforting the knowledge that this will be the last weekend of glory and fame for de Castro.

He gives a sign to the fight master, and the circus begins.

Two cloaked bodies are being rolled in and deposited on the opposite sides of the arena. Upon the master's command, the covers are removed off the almost naked forms, and potions are administered to bring the weres out of their slumber. A low sound of engines suddenly rumbles in the air, and the arena and the ceiling start moving. The large panels of the canopy with embroidered royal eagles part above our heads, exposing an elaborate contraption of metal and cables, and steel bars descend into the hollows that are opening around the elevating arena. In a matter of seconds, a tall dome cage is standing in the center, with two fighters inside, coming to, perfectly visible from all vantage points. The fight master presents Quinn and his opponent: Mark Davis, a were-lion from the kingdom of Southern California, undefeated in over three years, the favorite toy of Queen Donatella Moro. Davis is taller and leaner than the tiger, and he, too, is shaven clean everywhere, showcasing the rough relief of toned muscles and veins under the dark skin.

The fight master commands the weresto bow to their king and queen, and declares the sole rule – the winner lives, the loser dies. All they are told is that their masters' will is to see them fight to the best of their abilities, and it seems Davis accepts the situation with less defiance than Quinn. As bets are being processed, both weres look around, agitated, tightly wound. Sookie's breath catches in her throat when her former suitor looks straight at me, his glance filled with mortal hatred, then shifts his purple eyes onto her. _Hell,_ she breathes out without moving her lips, and only I can hear her.

Meanwhile, the rippling of the dark energy in the room is increasing rapidly. Vampires, taken by the smell of adrenaline, are humming with anticipation of warm blood to be spilled and a good brawl to be witnessed. I, too, feel the surge of bloodlust rising in me, and Pam's and Cramer's reactions are no different, for we are predators by nature. Monarchs make symbolic bets with chains their vassals produce from special pouches they carry on their belts. Sookie's disgust spiking tells me that despite the stress, she has fully caught on to the meaning of the chains exchanging hands.

The master signals bets off and for the fight to commence. Instantly, the weres charge at each other. With raw anger, they punch and swing, trying to inflict maximum damage while in human shape. Davis's long limbs are his advantage, and his fists and legs find their targets more often than not. Quinn withstands the assaults, blocking and ducking, then delivers a series of blows to Davis's torso below the ribs where the were's body appears to be the weakest.

"Five minutes," Cramer comments seemingly calmly; his fangs, though, are fully out. "The lion will go down if he doesn't shift first."

"Davis is fast," Pam replies. "Very fast."

Davis grabs Quinn's neck and hits him in the stomach with the knee several times. Instead of retreating, Quinn drops down, locking his arms around Davis's legs, and topples him over. He goes for the throat, but Davis is quicker: he throws right hook with enough force to dislocate Quinn's jaw, but at the last moment Quinn turns away, and Davis's knuckles only slide across his face. Davis uses the moment to push Quinn off, punching him in the chest with both feet, then kicks up. The weres back away to the bars and begin slowly circling, eyeing each other and breathing heavily. It is apparent Davis is proficient in marital arts, whereas Quinn prevails with strength and higher threshold for pain.

"What are they waiting for?" whispers Sookie, "Why won't they shift?"

"Not enough space to maneuver," Pam explains matter-of-factly. "Tiger versus lion in _this _cage…"

"Yeah, where's the fun in that," Sookie finishes, bitterly.

Indeed, for masses of simple tastes, watching such a battle would be truly entertaining; in the eye of highly sophisticated public, however, there is nothing spectacular about two animals clawing at each other. That is why the cage was designed precisely to allow for two men to combat, and not two large cats at once.

By now, Davis and Quinn have reversed their positions on the arena, slowly nearing the center. Quinn engages first with a long range hook, and Davis avoids by millimeters. For a minute they go on testing defenses and feigning attacks. After another short dance round the cage, Quinn throws a series of powerful punches with great speed. Davis blocks, delivers a swift round kick, swinging high and hitting Quinn in the head with the front of the leg. Quinn sways, as if losing his balance, and immediately, Davis crashes him with a roundhouse kick, this time to the left of his head. Unexpectedly, Quinn grabs and pulls Davis's leg while it is still high up in the air and simultaneously hits him in the groin with his right. He puts all he has into the blow, and Davis goes down.

"Shift!" Someone screams, "Shift!"

The audience is unable to resist this vocal provocation, and some even jump to their feet with "Shift, Davis, shift!", as Quinn pounces on top of his opponent and bashes his head hard against the floor. Davis's body quivers. Claws appear, and he plunges them into Quinn's shoulders, but before the transformation is complete, Quinn snaps Davis's neck with one sharp movement. The still human head falls back on the blood-dappled floor with a thud that seems to be as loud as a thunder in the suddenly completely silent hall.

"Sneaky kitty," Pam says with a hint of a smirk, as isolated claps turn into loud applause, "Got Davis by the balls. Literally."

"Quite the deceiver," I agree and add in Old Norse, "And not only in the ring."

The expression of open hostility, his fists tight and stance aggressive, Quinn gets up, facing the king. He holds an almost insultingly long pause before kneeling on one knee and lowering his sweaty head to his master. De Castro is in bright mood, accepting cheers of his minions and congratulations from Queen Donatella, who has just lost a supreme fighter and personal pet. Naturally, while her words are diplomatic, her dark energy is raging.

"Can we go now," Sookie mutters. She is not relieved; on the contrary, the gloomy feeling I have been sensing from her since we stepped into Hacienda's casino is weighing heavier on me by the second. But if I not know where the danger will come from, does it matter where it will find us?

De Castro raises his hand, and the talks quiet down. "Well done, tiger. I am very pleased. Queen Donatella finds you extremely capable, and that is high praise coming from her."

Quinn does not respond, only looks up at his master with blunt defiance that amuses, rather than irritates de Castro, as if underlying who really is in control.

"She has expressed a wish that I reward you," de Castro gives a small derisive smile, clearly deriving pleasure out of humiliating his slave. "Frankly, I believe you have left us wanting for more, but I am inclined to oblige Her Majesty. Should I take a chance that you will properly appreciate our generosity?"

I suppose there is no harm in departing a few minutes earlier than the rest. The doors are not far from our seats. We could slip out unnoticed; the guards on the other side will be easy to deal with. As I sign to Pam and Cramer to stay put and for Sookie to follow me, I notice Victor leaning closer to the king and saying something into his ear. There is nothing peculiar about that, except for de Castro's light blue field splashes, giving away surprise. His expression does not reflect that for a moment the patterns of both vampires synchronize in agreement.

The bond pounds with anger and fear, and Sookie blanches.

"Too late," she whispers.

"Your reward, tiger, is this: fight again, and should you win, I will void your debts," de Castro says, and the public accepts his announcement with growing enthusiasm. "It is unlucky for you that the choice of available opponents is limited. Lucky for you, I'll grant you the right to challenge any one of my men present here."

Murmurs and hisses of approval roll across the room. Someone suggests mockingly, "Let him try!" and others support the notion, for the audience is clearly eager for more blood, even if it is one of their own.

Sookie looks at me, finding no words.

"It is for the best," I tell her quietly.

Quinn turns around, seeking me out. I am ready. I am far from being intimidated. I am actually excited to exorcise some of the explosive tension that has been building up within me in all these weeks of planning, convincing, and preparing. I care not if this situation has somehow been conceived by malicious design, or if my enemies have merely taken advantage of how the events have unfolded. I need action. An outlet. A punching bag. A legitimate punching bag I am entitled to tear apart. Fuck, I want blood.

And blood I shall have.

.

Twilight's Fire by Brumae

**SPOV**

The foreboding of trouble had been churning my stomach for hours, and now it was replaced with something more dreadful. I could swear Madden winked at me when Quinn called Eric's name, but I wasn't even mad at that son of a bitch fanger. He'd been looking for any chance to destroy Eric, we knew that all along. I was now more than sure the thick layer of glamour in Quinn's head was his doing, too. So far, I'd been receiving only snippets of images from my ex, and I couldn't figure out what was wishful thinking, and what was instilled into him to act upon. But, hey, so long as he was in the cage, what could go wrong?…

And then it happened again. For a second, I was hearing vampire thoughts. Maybe, Felipe de Castro's. Or maybe Victor's. Who knows? And then it was too late for us to get out of that freakin' dungeon.

I'm not ashamed to admit I wasn't ready to watch Eric and Quinn fight. I could only hope Eric would find a way to make things right. He had the high bond, he could borrow any powers he'd want from me…

_No,_ came from Eric, _I need to do this alone_.

Here we were, in the midst of his kind, all fangs on us, and they didn't even suspect there was a whole world that belonged only to the two of us. In that world, I felt Eric distancing himself and gently but firmly pushing me away. It was all I could do not to resist. The Viking calmly removed his jacket, tie, and shirt and handed them to Pam, who remained cool as a cucumber. I stared at his pristine white undershirt – a tank top that did a poor job of hiding that beautiful body of his. A body that in a few minutes will be scratched. _Orange. Black stripes. _Bit. _Yellow fangs. Roar. Cling._ Lacerated. _Red. Red. Red. _

I swallowed hard. Quinn was _very _angry. And for everything that had gone awfully wrong in his life, he was blaming Eric.

You'd say it couldn't get any worse. Well, you'd be wrong.

On the arena, Quinn stood aside while two vampires removed Davis's body, cleaned up the blood trail, and Eric entered the cage. The Viking looked straight at Felipe, paying no attention to the menace few feet away, and his arrogance was only pissing off Quinn even more.

"Eric," Felipe said. "I trust you will not disappoint us."

"I shall do my best, Your Majesty," Eric answered. "Although my best will be hardly required."

"Then I am sure you will agree that we must level the play field."

"Fuck a zombie," Pam hissed.

"You will have your eyes and nose covered to compensate for your opponent's wounds and tired state."

Quinn wiped the blood off his arm, licked the palm and spit under Eric's feet. "Northman can watch me. He'll see nothing but his own death." _tearyourheadoff… _

Someone laughed. Eric didn't flinch. The cold premeditation was swiftly rising, icing within the bond. I remembered that chilling, unapologetic thrill from the desert, when he took out those drug dealers two weeks ago. I recalled something else, too. My emotions had confused him (and afterwards we'd had a long discussion of how we influenced each other through the blood tie.) It couldn't happen again. Not now.

"It will be an honor to fight on your terms, Your Majesty," Eric said evenly.

I blocked Quinn's broadcast. I forced myself to shrink in the bond. I let Eric concentrate and take up as much space as he needed while Valetti tied a black fold around his head, covering half of his face.

"One more thing," Felipe held up his hand, silencing the impatient outbursts. "Your wife and child are welcome give you some encouragement from down here."

"I appreciate your kindness," Eric lied oh-so smoothly.

[*SOUNDTRACK LINK ERROR*]

It was an excruciatingly long walk from our spots down to the arena, past the Amun section and to the king's. Sandwiched between Pam and Cramer, I couldn't be more careful walking on egg shells. Quinn was trying to burn holes in my face, but I had not a glance to spare at him and others I noticed out of the corner of my eye as they flashed on the periphery of my vision. Russell Edgington. Bartlett Crowe. Roxanni Prescott. Louis Jan Paul. Wisconsin… In my mind, I made a short prayer to God. Eric could still see vamps as fields of blue. He could even see Quinn's warmth with his own energy. And he could still hear perfectly fine.

When we reached the Nevada seats, Pam and I curtsied before the king, and Cramer gave a deep bow.

"Come, Mrs. Northman, stand next to me," de Castro said as soon as the fight master allowed bets. "You shall give me some insights into the were's mind. I have always wondered whether they think like humans after they… eh… shift."

"I'm the wrong telepath for the job, Your Majesty. My domain is pure humans only."

"Pity. But you can still be quite useful. Bet on Eric for me." The king nodded to Valetti, and the lieutenant dropped a short thick golden chain into my palm I hurriedly passed on to the appropriate pair of fangs.

Thankfully, Felipe abruptly lost interest in me (or so it seemed,) and waved to sound the horn, to begin the games for the second time tonight.

Eric stood absolutely still, his hands relaxed by his sides. I could see his calm face – whatever was left uncovered of it, that is – and it felt as if he was seeing me, too. Don't let him hurt you, I thought, wishing with all my heart that he would read my mind just this time. Quinn started to slowly move sidewise, keeping the distance as far away from Eric as the cage would allow. He came to a stop right behind the vampire's back, and our eyes met over Eric's shoulder. The man I once knew was gone. Instead, death peered at me – six-hundred-pound sly, lightning-fast, revenge-thirsty death – and I knew there was no other choice.

"Kill him," I said.

Quinn jumped. He shifted high in the air. He would have crashed Eric if the vampire didn't swiftly step back and squat down, and the tiger touched ground in front of him. With snarl, Quinn whirled around as Eric was getting back on feet, and swung his paw, leaving deep grooves across Eric's side and stomach. Eric swayed, evading another slashing, and backed away, drawing Quinn closer to the center of the arena in an elegant dance, despite the blood oozing from the gashes. The tiger stalked in semi-circles, made another attempt to gouge the vampire's face, then swung both front paws open and shut, standing up on the back legs, as if trying to give his enemy a hug. At the last moment, Eric ducked to the side, and as he swirled around, he lightly tapped the animal on the head, stopping two feet away.

Be that a regular tiger, even he would find the teasing and the laughs it engendered extremely offensive, but Quinn wasn't that easy to crack and force to lose control. He crouched and sprang at Eric, pushing him against the bars. Eric threw his arm up to protect his face. Quinn's fangs gleamed, but before he'd shut his jaws close, Eric punched him in the throat and followed with a hard kick in the gut. The tiger yowled, releasing Eric's arm, and then they were down, rolling across the floor in a growling orange-black-white chaos. Eric's back resurfaced, all bloody, got swallowed, resurfaced again… His pain was making me nauseous, and the rush of a fight lightheaded.

"How humanly enthusiastic," I heard the darnest voice on the planet. "Almost… enlivening."

That was the last straw.

I shook Pam's warning hand off my arm. "Do it!" I shouted. With magic or fangs, I didn't give a rat's ass. "Do it, now!"

The feral ball smashed into the bars, bending the metal. It took me a moment to realize Quinn's back made the dents. While he gathered himself up, Eric had already detached his limbs from the tiger's. He kicked the animal with surprising for a blind person precision, over and over, avoiding all four the tiger was trying to clutch him with. Although I couldn't hear the ribs cracking, the satisfaction pounding in the bond was more than a confirmation each strike reached its mark. Finally, Quinn managed to hook Eric in the thigh. Eric stumbled back, and the tiger pulled himself up. His sides violently coming up and down, his tongue hanging out, he steadied and pushed himself up in the air once again. Eric was prepared. He made a full turn to the right, and this time instead of tapping, he clocked the tiger in the head with his elbow, and Quinn crashed on the floor, rolling over the side. True cat, he found himself on all shaky fours, but the Viking leaped on the furry back and hammered Quinn's head with his fist, once. His knees locked around the thick neck.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!" the crowd was demanding.

Eric forked his fingers and plunged them into the tiger's nostrils, then yanked up, forcing Quinn's mouth open. With his other hand, he grabbed the tongue and ripped it out. The large mass under him convulsed, then went limp and began changing back to human. The vampires around went crazy. They cheered for Eric to finish his enemy off, but there was only one undead who could give that order.

"Mask off!" the fight master yelled over the audience's shouts.

Eric ripped the fold off. His face under the black fabric had remained spotless and emotionless, and only his darkened eyes reflected the _stormr_ that was raging inside him. He looked at his king, waiting for the sign, and Felipe held his thumb up, to my dulled surprise, causing overall ovations.

"The fight is over!" the fight master announced. "Let blood and game be yours!"

Eric stood up, the bloody piece of flesh in his grip. The red fluid dripped on the floor, and each drop falling echoed in my ears, as the metal bars started lifting and the arena leveled with the main floor.

Quinn lived. Sort of.

Hacienda was now officially open.


End file.
